A  BORDER  SHEPHERDESS 


A  ROMANCE  OF  ESKDALE 


h\' 

AMELIA  E.  BARR 


THE  BOW  OF  ORANGE  RIBBON,"  "THE  SQWI 

OF  SANOAL-S1BB,"   ETC.,    ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

THE   A.   D.   PORTER   CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1887, 

BV 
DCPD.  MEAD,  &  COMPAN\ 


INDEX. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.  TlLBERT    AND   TERRES   GRAEME,      .           .           I 

II.  HARRIBEE  HOME,         ....         16 

III.  THE  ENTRANCE  OF  SORROW,       .       .      36 

IV.  THE  WILL  OF  GOD,     ....         57 
V.  ARCHIE  RENWICK'S  HEART,          .       .     74 

VI.  LORD  GRAEME'S  LOVE,       ...          94 

VII.  TERRES  AND  FAITH,       .        .       .        .114 

VIII.  FAITH'S  DARK  HOUR,         ...       130 

IX.  THE  WAY  ARCHIE  WENT,     .       .       .147 

X.  THE  HOUR  WILL  COME,     ...        167 

XI.    A  LATE  WEDDING 186 

XII.  YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE,      .       .       211 

XIII.  RIGHT  BEFORE  EVERYTHING,        .       .    234 

XIV.  A  FATAL  HUNTING  PARTY,       .       .        251 
XV.  AT  FAITH'S  MERCY,        .                      .271 

XVI.  THE  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  MINISTER,  .        291 

XVIL  CONTENT.                                                .    308 


A  BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TILBERT  AND    TERRES   GRAEME. 

"Away  to  the  bonnie  green  hills 

Where  the  sunshine  sleeps  on  the  brae, 
And  the  heart  of  the  greenwood  thrills 

To  the  hymn  of  the  bird  on  the  spray. 
Away  where  the  sky  shines  clear, 

And  the  light  breeze  wanders  at  will, 
And  the  dark  pine  wood  nods  near 
To  the  light-plumed  birch  on  the  hill." 

PROF.  BLACKIE. 

EVERY  one  has  heard  of  Hawick,  of  its  fine 
manufactures,  its  outspoken  liberals,  and 
its  quick-footed  poachers.  But  who  in  this  gen- 
eration remembers  Mosskirtle,  an  old  resting- 
place  of  the  Carlisle  and  Edinburgh  coaches  on 
the  same  high  road  ?  For  the  railway  has  left 
it  some  miles  on  the  other  side,  and  thus  con- 
signed its  comfortable  inn  to  oblivion,  and  the 
little  town  itself  to  the  primitive  condition  of 
the  last  century. 


2  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

Yet  Mosskirtle  is  the  entrance  to  a  district 
rich  in  natural  beauty  and  local  tradition — 
the  gateway  to  the  "  Land  of  Spearmen,"  to 
the  homes  of  the  moss-troopers  and  the  tak'- 
ing  men  of  Eskdale,  Liddisdale  and  Teviot- 
dale ;  border  riders  who  loved  their  Jeddart 
lances  and  heavy  swords,  and  who  were  emphat- 
ically what  our  fathers  called  "  men  of  their 
hands." 

This  ruffling  element  kept  possession  of  the 
borders  until  nearly  two  centuries  ago.  Then 
the  Covenanting  martyrs  sought  refuge  among 
their  mountains  and  mosses,  and  it  was  these 
"  chased  and  tossed  men  "  who  first  brought 
"  the  Riders  "  to  reason  and  to  religion.  They 
had  remained  Roman  Catholic  longer  than  the 
rest  of  the  lowlands ;  Catholics  without  faith, 
without  respect  for  faith,  and  full  of  supersti- 
tion ;  but  the  prescribed  and  hunted  Richard 
Cameron,  Peden,  and  Balfour,  preached  right- 
eousness to  them  so  effectually  that  a  national 
poet  of  the  day  complains : 


"  If  their  doctrines  should  get  rooting, 
Farewell  theft,  the  best  of  booting  ! 
For  instance,  lately  on  the  Borders, 
Where  there  was  naught  but  theft  and  murders. 


TILBERT  AND    TERRES  GRAEME.  3 

These  rebels  more  prevail  with  words, 
Than  dragoons  do  with  guns  and  swords  ; 
So  that  their  simple  preaching  now, 
Makes  the  rush  bush  to  keep  the  cow, 
Better  than  Scots  or  English  kings, 
Could  do  by  kilting  them  in  strings."  * 

And  as  the  doctrines  did  get  rooting,  the 
moss  troopers  became  honest  shepherds  and 
farmers,  stern  and  uncompromising  moralists, 
men  ready  to  die  for  their  faith,  yet  possessing 
a  character  singularly  marbled  with  veins  from 
anterior  lives  altogether  diverse — daring,  poeti- 
cal, not  devoid  of  superstition — for  it  takes  cen- 
turies to  wear  out  traits  that  have  been  grow- 
ing for  centuries  ;  since  over  the  larger  part  of 
every  generation  may  be  written,  "  what  the 
cradle  rocked,  the  spade  buried." 

Civilization  indeed  advanced  very  slowly  in 
these  lonely  valleys.  Only  forty  years  ago,  a 
cart  came  out  of  Selkirk  three  days  in  the  week, 
traversed  the  district  and  went  back  on  the 
alternate  days  ;  and  upon  this  cart,  the  people 
depended  for  their  mail,  and  for  such  necessa- 
ries of  life  as  their  own  farms  did  not  supply. 
But  the  wheel  hummed  then  on  every  hearth, 
and  the  women's  ringers  deftly  threaded  the 

*  Cleland's  Poems,  1697. 


4  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

shuttles,  and  sent  them  flying  to  their  own 
pleasant  clickity-clickity  music.  So  the  world 
beyond  the  dales,  and  the  waters  troubled  them 
very  little;  they  traveled  life's  common  way 
in  cheerful  godliness,  in  peace,  in  the  innocence 
of  a  pure  religion,  and  a  simple  pastoral  life. 

Still  the  type  of  any  community  has  its  vari- 
ations ;  it  runs  back,  it  turns  aside,  it  antici- 
pates. There  were  cattle  drovers  in  Moss- 
kirtle  who  were  only  the  cattle  lifters  of  the 
seventeenth  century  under  the  restraints  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  In  many  a  moorland  farm 
the  dour  enthusiasm  and  the  unflinching  prin- 
ciples of  Richard  Cameron  still  dwelt.  The 
straitest  bands  of  Galvanism  hardly  restrained 
in  others  the  transmitted  love  for  adventure. 
Lilting  Border  songs  sprang  naturally  to  their 
lips,  songs  that  went  spontaneously  to  the 
galop  of  horses,  and  the  jingling  of  spurs  and 
spears.  For  who  ever  listened  to  "  Oh  Ken- 
muirs  on  an  awa  Willie"  without  longing  to 
mount  and  galop  by  Kenmuir's  side  ?  So  then, 
the  singers  took  to  a  horse  like  gypsies  and 
loved  dearly  to  shake  the  bridle  free,  and  in  a 
mad  galop  find  the  Solway  moss,  and  the  Sol- 
way  Firth,  and  the  little  black  smacks  that 


TILBERT  AND    TERRES  GRAEME.  5 

brought  French  brandy  and  tea  from  the  Isle 
of  Man  where  they  could  be  run  in  free  of  duty. 

Physically,  they  have  always  been  a  fine  race. 
From  Eskdale  to  Annandale,  men  of  the  most 
colossal  and  stately  figures  Britain  has  to  show 
were  plentiful.  The  women  also  were  generally 
handsome,  and  here  and  there  lovelier  faces 
could  be  met  than  one  could  ever  hope  to  see 
again  :  fresh  as  the  dawn,  with  an  expression  of 
wondering  innocence  that  was  charming.  And 
in  this  lonely  land,  as  in  the  busy  highroads  of 
life,  there  were  human  beings  defying  all  clas- 
sification ;  faces  that,  even  in  youth,  had  the 
atmosphere  of  measureless  antiquity ;  tempers 
that  compelled  speculation  as  to  whether  "  pos- 
session "  was  not  even  at  this  day  a  fact. 

Such  were  Lord  Tilbert  Graeme  and  his  sis- 
ter, Terres.  They  had  come  shrieking  into  the 
world  together,  and  their  mother's  life  had  been 
the  price  of  their  existence.  Left,  then,  to  the 
care  of  servants  for  many  years,  they  had  ruled 
them  with  the  unreason  of  passionate  child- 
hood. In  youth  they  were  seldom  apart,  and 
both  alike  were  restless  and  unhappy,  when  cir- 
cumstances compelled  such  an  arrangement. 
And  yet  their  daily  intercourse  with  each  other 


O  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

was  frequently  marked  by  dissensions  whose 
violence  terrified  every  one  but  themselves. 
Neither  had  married,  although  Lord  Graeme 
was  reputed  a  gallant,  and  Miss  Terres  had  cer- 
tainly had  many  lovers. 

She  was  still  a  woman  of  perfect  form  and 
fine  coloring ;  one  that  would  have  satisfied 
fully  the  usual  conception  of  a  noble  lady  fit  to 
be  the  mistress  of  Graeme  Castle.  It  was  a 
very  ancient  place,  and  one  of  unusual  size 
and  magnificence  for  the  Scotch  marches,  whose 
great  families  had  generally  preferred  to  defend 
themselves  in  their  forests  and  fens,  rather  than 
build  strongholds  which  might  be  taken  from 
them  by  the  English,  and  then  used  as  a  means 
of  coercing  their  obedience.  But  the  Graemes 
had  been  almost  hereditary  wardens  of  the  coun- 
try ;  they  were  royal  favorites ;  they  were  un- 
scrupulous with  foes  or  friends;  they  were 
reckless  with  money  and  life,  and  they  had 
never  yet  found  the  time  when  their  hands  or 
their  tongues  could  not  keep  the  home  which 
the  first  Lord  Tilbert  Graeme  had  built  on  the 
banks  of  Esk  Water. 

It  stood  upon  a  great  rock  overhanging 
the  river.  All  the  approaches  to  it  were  steep 


TILBERT  AND    TERRES  GRAEME.  7 

and  stony  and  shagged  with  wood  ;  but  from 
its  walled  court-yard  the  dwellers  within  could 
•see  all  the  bleak,  bright  aspects  of  the  border 
uplands — the  hanging  woods,  the  broomy  braes, 
the  heathery  hills  melting  away  into  that 
charmful  haze  which  envelopes  the  Cheviots 
with  its  faint  blue  mantle. 

The  interior  had  all  the  magnificence,  the  lit- 
tleness, and  the  inconveniences  of  ancient 
ideals.  There  was  one  grand  hall  nearly  eighty 
feet  long,  lofty  and  wide  in  proportion,  ceiled 
with  carved  and  polished  woods,  having  in  its 
walls  one  hundred  and  forty  panels,  each  con- 
taining the  likeness  of  some  Graeme,  male  or 
female.  But  these  portraits  were  mostly  rude 
attempts  to  preserve  faces  full  of  sorrows  or  of 
sins.  A  gentle  soul  would  have  looked  back 
with  terror  to  such  an  ancestry;  a  pious  one 
would  have  prayed  that  the  future  might 
be  delivered  from  it. 

With  the  exception  of  this  stately  apartment, 
the  rooms  were  small  and  cheerless,  for  the 
great  space  inclosed  was  much  broken  by  six- 
teen staircases,  full  of  ascents  and  descents  ; 
and  the  windows  were  high  and  narrow,  and 
the  doors  iron-cased,  so  that  the  appearance  of 


8  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

the  rooms  was  more  prison-like  than  any  habi- 
tation of  man  ought  to  be.  Terres  Graeme 
had  been  sensitive  to  it  from  her  earliest  recol- 
lection ;  sometimes  it  saddened  her,  sometimes 
it  irritated  her,  but  she  was  rarely  able  to  ignore 
its  influence. 

On  one  May  evening,  A.  D.  1840,  as  she  came 
slowly  down  the  main  stairway,  the  feeling  ter- 
rified her.  For  that  very  reason,  she  walked 
deliberately,  taking  each  step  with  a  conscious 
effort.  Her  long  silk  robe  trailed  on  the  steps 
behind  her,  and  she  fancied  she  heard,  above  its 
rustling,  footfalls  at  once  stealthy  and  fearless. 
Once  she  turned  around  and  looked  boldly  into 
the  shadows  she  had  passed,  then  with  set  lips 
she  resumed  her  descent.  As  she  did  so,  two 
servants  began  to  close  the  doors.  They  were 
heavy,  with  iron  bands ;  they  moved  on  pon- 
derous hinges,  and  had  massive  bolts,  and  their 
clash  and  clangor  echoed  far  down  the  winding 
passages. 

It  was  impossible  for  her  any  longer  to  defy 
the  feeling  of  terror.  She  hastened  to  the  hall 
door,  still  standing  open,  and  gazed  outward 
with  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  sob.  In  the  last 
slanting  rays  the  crows  were  hurrying  silently 


TILBERT  AND    TERRES   GRAEME.  9 

to  their  nests,  and  the  black-faced  moorland 
sheep,  moving  restlessly  from  hillock  to  hillock, 
were  beginning  to  crowd  together  for  the  night. 
It  was  a  mournful,  misty,  lonely  world  outside, 
and  with  a  shiver  she  turned  from  it  into 
a  small  parlor  where  there  was  a  blazing 
fire  of  coals  above  a  hearthstone  of  white 
tiles. 

Lord  Tilbert  was  later  than  usual,  seeing  that 
there  was  neither  market,  nor  meeting  of  any 
kind  to  detain  him.  But  Miss  Terres  neither 
wondered  or  feared  at  his  absence.  Graeme  of 
castle  Graeme  was  not  one  of  those  men  whom 
women  have  little  anxieties  about,  or  to  whom 
small  services  of  affection  are  naturally  offered 
But  she  wanted  his  society  to  restore  her  cour- 
age. She  had  met  very  unexpectedly  a  very 
lonesome  hour.  Images  from  the  past  came 
streaming  over  her  head.  She  was  surrounded 
by  a  silent  company  that  terrified  her,  that 
asked  her  dumb  questions  she  could  not  answer. 
And  she  shrank  from  such  soul  interrogatories. 
The  present  moment  was  often  hard  enough  to 
Terres  Graeme,  but  when  the  hardest  moments 
of  all  her  past  years  came  crowding  into  it, 
each  one  importuning  for  regrets  or  remem« 


10  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

brance,  it  was  too  much  to  bear,  especially  in 
that  solemn  witching  owl-light  time. 

So  when  at  last  she  heard  her  brother's  foot- 
steps she  was  glad,  and  she  rose  like  one  who 
throws  off  an  evil  dream,  and  snuffed  the  long 
wicks  of  the  candles,  and  stirred  into  a  brighter 
blaze  the  great  blocks  of  soft  coal.  Then 
Lord  Tilbert  entered  the  ruddy  light  and 
his  dark  face  and  figure  was  like  a  shadow 
in  it. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Tilbert." 
He  nodded  appreciatively  and  came  with 
slow  and  heavy  steps  toward  the  fireside.  He 
had  removed  his  hat  and  cloak,  and  the  man 
stood  fairly  enough  revealed  in  the  light.  He 
was  not  handsome,  but  he  had  an  original  face 
of  much  character,  and  a  figure  of  great 
strength,  tall,  thick  set,  deep-chested.  His 
eyes  were  of  yellowish  brown  set  in  bistrous 
lids,  and  they  seemed  to  lie  in  wait,  and  watch 
behind  cache-nez  glasses.  No  one  could  doubt 
that  he  was  capable  of  red-hot  passion,  perhaps 
even  of  letting  it  run  away  with  him,  but  his 
usual  manner  was  quietly  dogmatic,  wary,  per- 
ceptive, cool.  Terres  had  long  known  that  if 
there  were  any  feeling  in  her  heart,  she  need 


TILBERT  AND    TERRES  GRAEME.  II 

hardly  be  at  the  trouble  of  confessing  it ;  he  was 
sure  to  find  it  out. 

He  loved  money,  and  influence,  and  he  was  a 
jealous  guardian  of  his  own  interests  ;  and  yet 
there  was  something  in  his  deepest  nature  that 
responded  instantly  to  whatever  was  poetic  or 
mystical.  This  disposition  is  however  far  more 
common  than  is  generally  supposed  ;  and  if 
spiritual  men  may  be  counted  by  thousands, 
men  who  are  indifferent  to  the  spiritual  ele- 
ment but  fascinated  by  the  occult  and  super- 
natural, may  be  counted  by  tens  of  thou- 
sands. 

A  servant  followed  immediately  with  the 
supper  tray.  There  was  a  bottle  of  wine  and 
cold  meat  for  the  lord,  and  for  Miss  Terres  her 
invariable  glass  of  mulled  Burgundy  and  a  few 
strips  of  toasted  bread.  He  was  so  quiet  that 
his  movements  scarcely  broke  the  air  of  repose 
suggested  by  the  motionless  attitude  in  which 
the  brother  and  sister  sat  gazing  into  the  fire. 
Even  after  he  had  closed  the  door,  and  they 
knew  they  were  quite  alone,  Lord  Tilbert  con- 
tinued his  meditation,  and  it  was  Miss  Terres 
who  made  the  first  movement,  and  the  first 
remark. 


12  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"After  the  mist,  a  glass  of  wine  is  a  good 
thing,  Tilbert." 

Then  he  rose  and  filled  a  goblet  and  drank 
it  at  a  draught. 

"  But  will  you  not  eat  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  mind  to." 

"  Then  there  is  something  wrong.  What 
is  it  ?" 

"  It  is  Faith  Harribee.  Terres,  I  must  marry 
the  girl  one  how,  or  other." 

"As  for  marrying  Faith  Harribee,  it  is  high 
time  you  knew  that  to  be  beyond  thinking  of." 

"Why?" 

"  If  you  stood  alone  in  the  universe,  without 
a  kinsman  behind  you — if  you  had  no  sister  at 
your  side — if  you  had  no  obligations  before  you 
you  might  then  ask  why.  Carry  your  ques- 
tion into  the  great  hall,  and  ask  it  there, 
Tilbert." 

"  What  have  the  dead  to  do  with  it  ?  "    , 

"  The  dead  are  not  those  who  have  ceased  to 
live.  In  a  few  years  you  and  I  will  be  as  they 
are.  Even  now,  as  I  talk  to  you,  my  flesh 
shivers  and  is  conscious  of  presence.  Possibly 
they  hear  me  pleading  for  their  honor." 

"  I  love  the  girl." 


TILBERT  AND    TERRES  GRAEME.  13 

"And  so  I  loved  Will  Foster.  I  gave  him 
up  to  please  you.  You  know  what  I  suffered. 
It  was  a  heart-shipwreck  in  which  I  lost  my 
love,  my  youth,  my  hope,  my  faith.  Only  you 
remained  to  me.  We  two  have  one  life.  At 
the  long  end,  you  will  find  that  out." 

"  I  must  marry  sometime,  I  suppose  ;  "  and 
he  looked  keenly  at  Terres,  who  was  sitting 
with  dropped  eyes  and  a  face  half-angry  and 
half  reproachful.  The  question  touched  a  point 
to  which  they  never  alluded  in  the  faintest  way. 
It  startled  Terres,  and  she  remained  silent. 

"  I  know  of  what  you  are  thinking,  Terres." 

"  Then  you  know  I  am  thinking  of the 

boy.  Had  you  forgotten  him  ?  " 

"  No,  by  heaven  !  I  wish  I  could  forget  him. 
Are  you  going  to  put  him  before  me  ?  " 

"  When  I  cease  to  love  you,  I  may  do  so ; 
not  until.  The  thing  that  is  done,  is  done. 
Why  do  you  call  the  question  up  now?  Con- 
cerning  evil,  it  is  not  well  even  to  whisper." 

"  But  whenever  I  marry  it  must  come  up. 
Between  you  and  me,  it  must  come  up, 
Terres." 

"  Until  then,  I  will  not  speak  of  it.  I  will 
not  speak  of  it  at  all.  Only  remember  this— 


14  A    BORDER    SHEPHERDESS. 

not  for  Faith  Harribee,  will  I  meet  my  brother 
William  with  my  hands  before  my  face." 

"  Is  that  a  threat,  sister?" 

"  It  is  a  truth." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  that  ?  You  will  stand 
by  me,  as  you  have  always  done — or  !  " 

"  Your  threat  ought  to  choke  you.  I  can 
say  '  or '  as  loud  as  you  can.  Keep  mind  of 
that  fact — and  I  would  advise  you  to  be  more 
cautious." 

"  Caution  behind  my  back !  " 

"  Better  keep  it  by  your  side.  It  is  often 
wasted,  but  it  is  a  good  risk  to  take." 

"  The  girl  is  my  destiny." 

"  Simple  nonsense  !  The  clew  of  every  one!s 
destiny  lies  at  the  cradle  foot.  You  know  what 
your  birth  binds  you  to.  A  man  can  not  delib- 
erately make  his  own  fortune  and  then  call  it 
fate.  I  have  heard  also,  that  Archie  Renwick 
of  Shepherd's  Bush  was  wooing  Faith  Harribee." 

"  Lies  !  Idle  tales  from  women,  who  have 
nothing  else  to  do  but  go  from  house  to  house, 
spinning  street  webs." 

"  Indeed  I  heard  he  had  bespoken  her." 

"  Nothing  but  a  who-say — a  wandering  word 
with  no  truth  in  it." 


TILBERT  AND    TERRES  GRAEME.  i$ 

"  Still  where  the  rings  are  spread,  a  stone  fell 
into  the  water.  But  if  you  must  marry  why 
not  Helen  Lilburn  ?  She  likes  you,  and  she 
has  houses  and  lands  in  her  own  right." 

"  I  love  Faith  Harribee  ;  and  I  care  nothing 
for  houses  and  lands  in  an  apron-string-hold. 
I  want  my  property  in  my  own  hand,  not  my 
wife's.  In  short,  I  want  Faith." 

"  You  want  Faith  !  Very  well,  that  is  your 
affair.  I  don't  want  Faith  !  That  is  my  affair. 
You  are  riding  a  dangerous  road  to  woo  ;  before 
you  mount,  look  to  your  girth,  Sir:  "  and  with 
a  movement  of  scorn  and  defiance  she  left  the 
room ;  the  thick,  glistening  silk  of  her  robe, 
seeming  to  rustle  in  angry  sympathy,  with  her 
heart's  turmoil,  and  anxious  apprehension. 


CHAPTER   II. 

HA  RRIBEE     HOME. 

"  Their  free-bred  soul 
Went  not  with  priests  to  school, 
To  trim  the  tippet  and  the  stole 
And  pray  by  printed  rule. 
But  they  would  cast  the  eager  word 
From  their  heart's  fiery  core, 
Smoking  and  red,  as  God  had  stirred 
The  Hebrew  men  of  Yore."  PROF.  BLACKIE. 

' '  The  world  which  seems 
To  lie  before  us  like  a  lands  of  dreams 
So  various,  so  beautiful,  so  new, 
Hath  really  neither  joy,  nor  love,  nor  light, 
Nor  certitude,  nor  pace,  nor  help  for  pain  ; 
And  here  we  are,  as  on  a  darkling  plain 
Swept  with  confused  alarms  of  struggle  and  flight." 

TJARRIBEE  Home  was  about  three  miles 
1  J.  from  Castle  Graeme  ;  a  long  gray  house 
of  rough  granite,  with  a  high  roof  of  red  tiles, 
green  and  yellow  with  lichens.  In  front  of  it, 
there  was  an  old-fashioned  terraced  garden, 
shaded  by  sombre  yew  trees  and  divided  through 
the  center  by  wide  grass-grown  steps.  A  strip 


HARRIBEE  HOME.  17 

of  rich  land  lay  between  the  garden  and  Esk 
water,  and  on  this  spring  evening  it  was  all  a 
mist  of  green  with  growing  corn.  But  behind 
the  house,  and  "  up  the  waters  "  was  the  vast 
and  desolate  places  of  the  shepherds  ;  a  great 
silent  table-land  of  heather  and  turf,  seamed 
here  and  there  with  a  green  valley,  or  broken 
by  the  catrail — that  mysterious  wall  and 
boundary  of  an  unknown  race — while  on  the 
horizon,  blue  and  afar  off,  were  the  distant 
mountains  that  ringed  around  this  "land  of  the 
leal." 

The  house  itself  was  only  remarkable  for  the 
rude  strength  of  the  age  in  which  it  was  built. 
Its  rooms  were  all  composed  of  massive  stone, 
and  heavy  beams  and  boards  of  oak,  and  with 
closed  doors  and  windows  it  was  capable  of 
being  long  defended.  For  before  the  days  of 
Richard  Cameron  the  Harribees  had  been  noted 
riders,  and  their  blue  bonnets  over  the  En- 
glish border  had  meant  for  the  Cumberland  or 
Westmoreland  shepherds  inevitable  scaith  and 
loss.  But  with  the  persecuted  preachers  a  new 
spirit  entered  the  house,  and  the  grim  gray 
keep,  that  had  been  so  long  the  gathering-place 
of  wild  and  lawless  men.  became  a  safe  rendez* 


*8  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

vous  and  resting-place  for  the  hunted  saints. 
For  the  Harribees  were  men  of  whole  minds ; 
"whatever  cause  they  espoused  it  was  theirs,  for 
ihands  or  purse,  for  life  or  death. 

They  had  never  been  counted  of  noble  birth, 
though  as  moss-troopers  they  had  held  that  pre- 
eminence which  among  fighting  men  is  ever 
awarded  to  personal  strength  and  bravery. 

**  On  the  borders  were  the  Harribees,  able  men, 
Verjr  unruly,  and  very  ill  to  tame, 

had  been  truly  enough  said  of  them  until  the 
words  of  the  preachers  found  them  out.  Then 
they  had  exchanged  raiding  and  riding  for  a 
leadership  in  the  ranks  of  those  iron  apostles 
whom  God  sends  in  iron  times  to  prepare  His 
way. 

On  all  the  slopes  around  Harribee  Home 
they  had  stood  with  the  Covenanting  men, 
joining  heartily  both  in  their  solemn  chant  and 
their  startling  war-cry.  They  had  left  men  at 
Airs  Moss,  at  Drumclog,  and  Bothwell  Brig. 
Dunnottair's  dungeon  solitude  had  heard  their 
prayers,  and  the  Bass  Rock  attested  their  long 
suffering.  Nor  was  their  struggle  only  a 
brightly  barren  one.  A  single  death  for  truth 
and  freedom  makes  millions  the  heritors  of 


HARRIBEE  HOME.  19 

truth  and  freedom,  and  the  men  who  achieved 
through  martyrdom  an  independent  creed  gave 
to  the  pastoral  Pentland  falls,  the  Lothian 
plains,  and  the  dales  of  the  border,  the  noblest 
of  all  claims  to  renown : 

"God's  saints  died  here  and  gained  the  martyr's  crown." 
But  in  worldly  matters  also  the  Harribees 
were  not  unprosperous.  They  possessed  within 
the  butts  and  bounds  of  their  estate  a  thousand 
acres  of  land  without  a  due  upon  it ;  mostly 
under  cattle  and  sheep,  but  growing  in  the 
lower  and  more  sheltered  valleys  sufficient 
grain  and  grass  for  the  wants  of  the  farm. 

Early  in  the  present  century  Matthew  Har- 
ribee  came  into  his  heritage.  He  was  the  son 
of  David  Harribee  who  had  followed  Cumber- 
land's troopers  to  Culloden.  Not  without  a 
pang  had  he  drawn  his  sword  against  his  native 
prince,  but  the  Stuarts  were  the  enemies  of  his 
faith,  and  "Jerusalem  which  is  above,"  was  the 
native  land  of  his  soul.  Between  religious 
conviction  and  national  prejudice,  David  Har- 
ribee could  not  have  a  moment's  hesitation. 
Still  he  thanked  God  that  his  son  Matthew's 
life  had  fallen  in  pleasanter  and  more  peaceful 
times ;  for  when  he  gave  up  the  farm  to  hiitt 


20  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

persecution  was  over,  liberty  of  conscience 
assured,  the  Stuart  dynasty — source  of  so  much 
woe — nothing  but  a  passionate  remembrance. 

However,  Matthew  was  heir  to  the  nature 
and  traditions  of  his  family,  as  well  as  to  their 
house  and  land.  He  was  a  stern  man,  living 
under  circumstances  when  sternness  was  not  the 
quality  most  desirable.  Every  one  respected, 
though  few  loved  him  ;  but  Matthew  Harribee 
was  not  a  man  whose  happiness  depended  upon 
popular  estimation.  To  do  his  duty  and  be  at 
peace  with  his  own  conscience  were  more  to 
him  than  the  doffing  of  bonnets  on  the  road- 
side or  the  "  cracking  "  of  friends  at  his  ingle. 

He  did  not  marry  until  his  father's  death 
made  him  master  of  Harribee,  and  lie  was  then 
nearly  forty  years  of  age  ;  so  that  people  won- 
dered greatly  when  Maggie  Renwick,  a  timid, 
gentle  woman,  frail  and  lovely  as  a  Cheviot 
blue-bell,  chose  him  from  among  handsomer 
and  richer  suitors.  But  Maggie  made  no  mis- 
take. Her  heart  divined  that  Matthew,  though 
but  a  silent  wooer,  loved  her  with  an  intensity 
and  depth  for  which  earth  has  no  language  and 
time  no  measure. 

They  had  many  children,  but  the  majority 


HARRIBEE  HOME.  21 

inherited    their   mother's    delicate    frame   and 
died  early.     Two  daughters  only  had  reached 
womanhood,  and  it  was  upon  the  eldest,  the 
fair  and  stately  Faith  Harribee,  that  Lord  Til- 
bert  Graeme  had  set   his   heart.     Agnes,  her~ 
sister,  was  but  a  lassie  of  seventeen,  a  bonnie 
lassie,  every  one  called  her,  unable  to  find  any 
other  term  to  express  their  sense  of  a  beauty 
more  easily  felt  than  described. 

Between  Agnes  and  the  babe,  yet  in  his 
mother's  arms,  there  was  a  wide  interval,  bridged 
only  by  the  small  green  graves  in  the  kirk- 
yard.  But  this  babe  was  the  darling  of  the 
house.  He  had  come  as  the  recompense  for  so 
many.  He  was  the  only  living  son,  the  heir  ta 
the  house,  and  land,  and  name.  Matthew  Har- 
ribee's  fondest  hopes  were  in  him,  and  for  him. 
A  boy-child  had  always  been  greatly  valued  in 
the  dales,  and  this  was  a  sturdy  little  fellow, 
calm  and  wide-eyed,  with  the  peculiar  square, 
strong  countenance,  which  Matthew  in  his 
heart,  proudly  recognized  as  the  Harribee 
face. 

On  that  spring  night  on  which  Miss  Terres 
Graeme  sat  lonely  in  Graeme  Castle,  haunted 
by  memories  she  would  gladly  have  put  far  from 


22  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

her,  Agnes  Harribee  was  rocking  this  babe  to 
sleep.  He  lay  in  his  wooden  cradle  and  Agnes 
knelt  by  his  side,  gently  swaying  it,  to  the  song 
she  sang — a  simple,  rather  plaintive  little  bal- 
lad— but  the  child  seemed  to  like  it.  He  gazed 
at  her  with  round,  wondering  eyes,  and  made  a 
low,  chirming,  continuous  sound,  that  blended 
very  sweetly  with  the  rustic  words  and  melody : 

"  Braw,  braw,  lads  on  Yarrow  braes, 

Ye  wander  thro"  the  blooming  heather, 
But  Yarrow  braes,  nor  Ettrick  shaws 

Can  match  the  lads  of  Galla  Water. 
*'  But  there  is  ane,  a  secret  ane  ; 

Aboon  them  a'  that  I  love_better, 
And  I'll  be  his,  and  he'll  be  mine, 
The  bonnie  lad  o'  Galla  Water." 

'•"  Whist !  "  Agnes,  dearie.  Your  fayther 
'doesna  like  thae  sangs.  I  wonder  whar  you 
learnt  them  at  a' ?  I  wonder  at  your  singing 
them!" 

"I wonder mysel', mither,sometimes.  They're 
down  i'  my  heart  someway,  and  afore  I  ken 
Jihey  are  at  my  lips,  and  out  by  them." 

"  Is  the  bairn  asleep  ?  " 

"Ay,  he's  o'er  the  border  line,  God  bless 
liim  ! " 

"  Then  lay  the  supper  cloth,  and  tell  Kirsty 
to  bring  in  a  basket  o'  peat  and  a  bit  o'  bright 


HARRIBEE  HOME.  23 

wood  for  the  fire.  Your  fayther  will  be  cold 
and  hungry  when  he  gets  down  the  fells." 

"  He  is  late  the  night." 

n  Ay,  he  is  late.  There  are  a  good  many 
ewes  and  lambs  to  fold,  and  he  doesna  trust 
the  hired  shepherd." 

"  I'll  soon  hae  a'  ready,  mither.  Sit  down 
and  rest  yoursel'  a  wee.  You  are  aye  working." 

"  Weel,  that  is  right,  Agnes.  Folks  must 
work  to-day,  for  there's  nane  can  tell  hoo  far 
they  may  be  hindered  to-morrow.  Quick,  my 
lassie  !  I  hear  your  fayther's  voice  in  the  barn- 
yard." 

In  a  few  minutes  Matthew  Harribee  entered 
the  house-place.  There  was  a  flicker  of  light 
on  his  grave  face  as  he  came  within  the  pleas- 
ant influence  of  the  cheerful  ingle,  and  the 
calm  eyes  lifted  with  a  silent  welcome  to  meet 
him.  But  he  did  not  speak  at  once,  and  no 
one  dreamed  of  interfering  with  his  thoughts. 

Presently  his  eyes  rested  on  the  sleeping  boy 
and  his  face  softened.  The  sweet  sense  of 
human  love  gave  him  the  desire  for  human 
sympathy,  and  he  said  : 

"  It  was  vera  raw  and  damp  on  the  fells,  and 
I  am  gey  tired  tramping  after  the  ewes.  They're 


24  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

wilfu',  silly  creatures — the  prophet  kent  us  weel 
when  he  said,  we  a'  went  astray  like  sheep,  ilka 
ane  turning  his  ain  way.  It  is  a  true  observe. 
Isaiah  would  hae  been  amang  the  sheep  faulds 
himsel',  nae  doubt,  nae  doubt." 

"You  are  a  gude  shepherd,  Matthew,  and 
you  are  a  kind  man  to  the  beasts.  I  heard  ye 
in  the  stable  and  the  barn-yard." 

"  Ay,  I  like  to  see  they  hae  their  supper. 
Evening  oats  are  good  morning  fodder;  and 
the  servant's  hand  may  do,  if  the  master's  eye 
is  on  it.  Noo,  I'll  hae  my  ain  bite  and  sup,  for 
I  hae  a  word  or  twa  to  say  after  it.  Ca'  the 
lasses  in,  Maggie.  Hae  you  seen  Faith  within 
the  hour?  " 

"  Faith  is  in  the  dairy.  The  wark  is  late  to- 
night, for  she  went  o'er  to  Kirtle  Farm  to  get 
a  few  cuts  o'  fine  yarn  for  me.  She  didna  get 
back  as  soon  as  she  should  hae  done,  and  there's 
a  sight  o'  milk  now,  gudeman.  So  she  is  a  bt 
behind-hand  to-night." 

"Ay,  I  thocht  that." 

"But  I  hear  her  footfalls — "  and  with  thes« 
words  Faith  Harribee  entered.  She  had  on  her 
dairy  dress,  a  striped  linsey  petticoat,  and  a 
calico  josey,  with  the  sleeves  fastened  above 


HARRIBEE  HOME.  25 

the  elbows.  But  no  one  who  looked  at  Faith 
thought  of  her  dress.  Whatever  she  wore 
seemed  to  be  precisely  the  fitting  garment 
for  her,  for  her  figure  was  so  fine,  her  counte- 
nance so  brave  and  bright,  her  manner  so  calm, 
that  she  inspired  at  once  a  sense  of  strength, 
and  pleasure,  and  sweet  fitness  for  the  occa- 
sion. 

Yet  her  mother,  who  knew  every  light  and 
shadow  of  her  daughter's  face,  perceived,  or 
perhaps  felt,  that  something  unusual  was  on 
Faith's  mind.  Still  she  did  not  connect  it  with 
the  "word  or  twa "  Matthew  Harribee  had 
forespoken,  until  he  said, 

"  If  the  day's  work  is  o'er,  sit  down,  lasses. 
Faith,  I  hae  a  question  to  ask  you.  How  lang 
hae  ye  been  keeping  tryste  wi'  yonder  black 
lord  o'  Graeme  ?  " 

"  Never  ance  hae  I  kept  tryste  with  him, 
father.  He  met  me  to-night  on  Kirtle  brow, 
and  he  lighted  from  his  horse,  and  spake  some 
words  to  me  I  didna  want  to  hear." 

"  I  thocht  that.  I  was  on  the  Preacher's 
Stane  aboon  you,  and  though  I  couldna  hear 
his  words,  I  kent  weel  the  meaning  o'  Graeme's 
dorring  his  beaver,  and  bending  his  proud  head 


26  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

to  a  bonnie  lassie's  face.  I  kent  weel  wh;-.t 
lying  flatteries  and  beguiling  words  he  was  say- 
ing ;  and  his  outstretched  hand,  ringed  wi'  dia- 
monds, and  gloved  wi'  kid-skin,  I  kent  weel 
what  way  it  would  lead  a  silly  lass  that  heeded 
him." 

"  I  heeded  no  word  he  said.  And  you  should 
think  better  of  Faith  Harribee  than  to  mis- 
doubt  her.  Graeme  asked  me  to  marry  him, 
plump  and  plain,  he  asked  me  to  marry  him, 
and  I  said  that  was  a  thing  that  never  could 
be." 

"  It  was  a  great  honor  to  you,  Faith,"  said 
the  mother  timidly,  and  a  little  flush  of  pleasure 
stole  into  her  white  cheeks. 

"  You  ken  naething  o*  what  ye  are  saying, 
gude  wife ; "  and  Matthew  turned  almost 
fiercely  on  the  offending  speaker.  "  If  Beelze- 
bub sought  you  for  a  mither-in-law,  would  you 
mince  and  mou,  and  say  it  was  a  great 
honor?  Yet  diels  and  bad  men  are  kith  and 
kin,  and  they  think  the  same  thochts,  and  do 
the  same  warks.  Wha  ever  kent  a  gude 
Graeme  ?  The  sins  o'  a'  their  generations  are 
on  them.  They  were  fause  to  baith  Scots  and 
English,  Stuart  and  German,  and  they  keepit 


HARRIBEE  HOME.  2} 

their  heads  and  their  lands  by  lying  and  brib, 
ery.  They  were  with  the  brutal  Dalzell  and 
Claverhouse  against  the  saints,  and  their  blood 
is  on  the  doorstep  o'  Castle  Graeme,  and  on 
the  hands  o'  its  lords  ;  for  the  present  lord  has 
justified  his  fathers  in  my  ain  hearing,  and  said 
he  would  hae  done  sae,  and  mair  too,  had  he 
lived  in  their  day.  I  dinna  doot  it,  not  a  min- 
ute's space.  Sae  speak  nae  mair  to  him,  this 
nor  that,  and  gie  him  neither  your  hand  nor 
your  good-day." 

"  You  hae  been  ceevil  to  him  yoursel', 
Matthew,  and  you  hae  bought  and  sold  with 
him." 

"  There's  a  difference,  a  vera  gt-eat  difference, 
atween  selling  a  few  ewes  or  a  bull-calf  to  a 
man,  and  gieing  him  your  ain  daughter,  the 
bairn  you  pledged  to  God  in  baptism,  and 
that  was  saved  by  the  blood  o'  the  Holy 
One.  Faith  Harribee  is  of  the  seed  o'  the 
saints  and  the  martyrs.  It  would  be  even  down 
sin  to  give  her  to  a  Graeme !  " 

"  I  wouldna  gie  mysel'  to  him,  fayther; 
though  maybe  I  dinna  think  sae  badly  o'  him 
as  you  do." 

She  spoke  with  a  grave  and  quiet  decision, 


28  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

and  Matthew  felt  a  little  shame  over  his  unu 
sual  and  uncalled-for  excitement.  His  voice  fell 
into  its  ordinary  tones,  and  he  answered,  "  I 
believe  you,  Faith ;  so  there  is  nae  mair  to  be 
said  on  that  head,  and  we'll  settle  our  hearts 
wi'  a  thocht  or  twa  frae  God's  Book.  Gie  it  to 
me,  and  ca'  ben  the  lads  an'  lasses." 

They  came  sleepily  in,  tired  with  their  hard 
outdoor  labor,  and  feeling  "  the  exercise  "  to  be 
just  a  little  trial.  But  as  soon  as  Matthew 
opened  the  volume  and  said, 

" '  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not 
want/"  the  familiar  illustration  went  straight  to 
each  comprehension ;  and  with  patient  bovine 
faces,  on  which  there  was  a  glimmer  of  expec- 
tation, they  looked  straight  at  the  master. 

"'  My  shepherd!'  "  he  said,  "like  as  if  the 
Lord  had  only  one  sheep  and  that  sheep  was 
you,  or  you,  or  me."  Then  he  read  the  whole 
psalm  through,  and  added,  "  Sandy,  you  and  I 
and  Baldy  ken  weel  what  silly  things  sheep 
are,  and  what  a  hard  time  we  shepherds  do 
have  wi'  them.  They're  always  in  trouble,  the 
heat  parches  them,  and  the  cold  freezes  them, 
and  the  snow  smoors  them,  and  the  dogs  worry 
them,  and  the  flies  are  death  to  them.  And 


HARRIBEE  HOME.  29 

just  such  a  worrisome  flock  the  Lord  has  here 
in  Harribee  Home,  but  He  is  a  shepherd.  He 
says  we  shall  not  want.  We  are  to  lie  down  in 
green  pastures  and  by  still  waters.  You  ken 
vera  weel  that  sheep  dinna  lie  down  if  they  are 
hungry,  or  if  the  torrents  are  roaring  down  the 
fells ;  sae  you  can  understan'  that  you  are  prom- 
ised baith  plenty  and  safety.  Sae  gang  to  your 
beds  and  sleep  in  peace,  for  there's  naething  to 
fear  you,  wi'  such  a  shepherd — and  it  willna  do 
you  any  harm,  my  lads,  if  you'll  keep  mind  hoo 
the  Lord  tak's  tent  o'  his  sheep,  and  ever  try 
to  do  your  ain  sma'  duties  a  bit  better  the 
morn.  Gude-night,  and  the  Lord  be  wi'  you 
all." 

But  though  thus  pleasantly  dismissed  to 
sleep,  Faith  and  Agnes  did  not  readily  feel 
able  to  accept  the  blessing.  Faith  perceived 
that  something  unpleasant  was  influencing  her 
sister.  She  sat,  almost  sullenly  combing  her 
long  yellow  hair,  and  there  was  undoubtedly  a 
rebellious  expression  upon  her  usually  happy 
face.  And  as  Agnes  was  ever  ready  to  talk 
upon  passing  events,  Faith  was  astonished  at 
her  silence  regarding  the  Graeme's  proposal. 
She  did  not  care  to  open  the  subject  herself, 


30  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

but  she  was  quite  ready  to  give  her  confidence 
to  her  sister,  if  Agnes  desired  it.  And  she 
could  not  help  glancing  with  a  curiosity  in 
which  there  was  a  slight  feeling  of  offense, 
at  the  companion  who  affected  so  little  in- 
terest in  a  circumstance  singular  and  unex- 
pected. 

But  though  Faith  lingered  somewhat  about 
her  preparations  for  the  night,  Agnes  sat  in  the 
same  dour  attitude,  mechanically  passing  the 
comb  through  her  loosened  hair,  but  evidently 
unmindful  of  what  her  hands  were  about,  and 
indifferent  to  every  thing  but  the  gloomy  and 
resentful  thoughts  she  was  indulging.  . 

At  last  Faith  said,  "  I'm  no  caring  to  wait  all 
night  for  you,  Agnes.  Why  dinna  you  coire 
awa'  to  your  bed  ?  " 

Agnes  answered  in  a  low  passionate  burst  of 
weeping.  She  laid  her  arms  upon  the  small 
dressing-table,  buried  her  face  in  them,  and 
sobbed  with  a  provoking  unreason. 

"  I'll  hae  to  go  for  mother,  Agnes,  if  you 
willna  tell  me  what  is  troubling  you.  You 
shouldna  be  keeping  folks  waking  with  a  fear 
you  can  lighten  by  a  word.  Wha  is  there  that 
loves  you  as  I  do?  And  wha  would  do  mair 


HARRISES  HOME.  3* 

{,o  pleasure  you  in  a'  lawfu'  ways?  What  ails 
you  at  a',  Agnes?" 

She  had  come  to  her  side,  and  she  stooped 
to  the  weeping  girl  whispering  her  name  softly 
with  those  little  soothing  intonations,  the 
strong  involuntarily  use  toward  the  weak. 

"  I  am  meeserable,  Faith.  Fayther's  words 
against  the  Graeme  have  maist  broken  my 
heart." 

Faith's  face  flushed  crimson  as  she  asked, 
"  has  he  been  saying  foolish  things  to  you,  also, 
Agnes ?  Never  mind  him,  dearie,  we  baith 
ken,  that  he  is  naught  at  a'  but  a  bad  man." 

"  Oh !  You  are  aye  thinking  o'  yoursel',  Faith ! 
What  do  I  care  for  the  Graeme?  I  hate  the 
vera  sight  o'  him.  A  hard,  cauld  uncle  is  he  to 
poor  Roland !  " 

"  Roland  !  Poor  Roland  !  Agnes,  Agnes,  I 
hope  you  are  na  heeding  Roland  Graeme ! 
That  would  be  worse  than  a'." 

"  Why  would  it  be  worse  than  a*  ?  Roland 
has  been  coming  to  Harribee  ever  since  he  was 
ten  years  auld." 

"  Tak'  care  o'  yourself,  Agnes,  and  dinna  say 
too  much.  When  the  lad  first  came  to  the 
castle,  a  poor  motherless,  fatherless,  friendless 


32  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

bairn,  and  not  a  welcome  nor  a  bit  o'  love  for 
him  anywhere,  our  mother's  heart  was  sorry  for 
him.  You  ken  it  was  just  a  mother's  pity 
made  her  often  gie  him  a  full  meal,  and  mend 
his  claithes,  and  listen  to  his  bairnhood's  sor- 
rows. And  our  fayther  had  a  kind  heart,  he 
didna  choose  to  see  what  he  didna  care  to  hin- 
der ;  but  noo  Roland  is  a  gay  young  man,  and 
there's  no  very  good  say-so's  anent  him  coming 
frae  London." 

"Whose  say-so's?  Only  the  black-hearted 
Graeme's.  Roland  and  I  played  together 
many  a  long  summer-day;  and  I  ken  what 
Roland  is.  He  has  loved  me  ever  since  I  was 
six  years  auld,  and  I  hae  loved  him  likewise  ; 
and  he  is  coming  this  vera  summer  to  ask  fay- 
ther to  let  him  marry  me.  And  then  to  hear 
the  way  fayther  went  on  at  the  Graemes.  I 
dinna  think  it's  Christian  to  be  sae  bitter  to 
dead  folk.  Roland  says,  if  fayther  had  been 
born  a  Graeme  he  would  hae  done  as  the 
Graemes  did." 

"  You  are  a  wicked  lassie  to  listen  to  Roland 
Graeme  putting  your  ain  fayther  amang  the 
warst  men  that  Scotland  e'er  saw, — and  there's 
nae  sense  either  in  such  reasoning ;  Nane  at  a'! 


HARRISES  HOME.  33 

It  would  be  as  wise  like  to  say  if  the  angel 
Gabriel  had  been  the  deil  he  would  hae  done  as 
the  deil  did.  And  as  for  loving  a  man  like 
Roland  Graeme  its  no  to  be  thought  of." 

"What  for  no?  Mother  wasna  sae  much 
opposed  to  you  wedding  wi*  Roland's  uncle. 
She  said  it  was  a  great  honor.  You  heard  her, 
Faith  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  moment's  thought  o'  the  castle 
and  the  title.  It  was  mother-like  to  be  wishing 
her  child  a  fine  lady,  but  mother  isna  ane  to 
give  way  to  a  temptation  for  mair  than  a  mo- 
ment : — forbye  there  would  be  no  honor  o'  any 
kind  in  being  the  wife  o'  Roland  Graeme. 
You  couldna  offer  a  greater  insult  to  your  ain 
family,  and  to  your  forbears." 

"  I'm  no  caring  for  my  forbears.  Why 
should  I?  They  dinna  care  for  me." 

"  You  are  maybe  mista'en,  Agnes,  anent  that  • 
but  surely  you  are  caring  for  your  fayther  and 
mother,  for  mysel'  and  wee  Davie.  Fayther 
-would  count  your  marriage  with  Roland  a  dis- 
grace no  to  be  wiped  out.  It  would  hurt  him. 
through  every  generation  of  the  Harribees. 
You  must  hae  heard  tell  o'  the  shadow  on 
Roland's  birth." 


34  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"  The  puir  lad  isna  to  be  blamed,  nor  shamed 
for  his  mother,  Faith." 

"  Perhaps  no,  but  it  is  a  sad  thing  when  a 
man  does  na  like  to  speak  of  his  ain  mother. 
She  was  a  Roman  woman,  born  under  the  tem- 
poral and  spiritual  power,  baith,  o'  the  Pope ; 
and  she  was  ane  o'  them  women  that  act  in 
the-a-tres  ;  and  fayther  wha  thinks  bad  enough 
o'  the  Graeme  stock,  thinks  o'  Roland  as  the 
irera  worst  o*  what  was  evil  to  start  with. 
Agnes,  dearie,  you'll  no  dream  of  such  a  mar- 
riage. Naething  but  shame,  and  sorrow,  and 
maybe  death  can  follow  it.  For  a  blow  like 
that  would  kill  mother;  you  ken  she  hasna  had 
a  weel  day  since  Davie  was  born,  and  her  life  is 
in  her  bairns.  I  canna  think  you'd  lift  your 
hand  against  mother." 

'I  think  fayther  is  the  most  unreasonable  o' 
mortals.  There  may  be  good  Graemes,  as  well 
as  good  Harribees." 

"You'll  no  gather  any  sweet  apples  off  a 
crab  tree;  I'm  thinking,  Agnes." 

"  I  dinna  care.  I  hae  promised  Roland,  and 
I'll  not  break  faith  with  him." 

She  stood  bravely  to  this  position  for  a  little 
while,  then  underpressure  of  Faith's  entreaties, 


HARRIBEE  HOME.  35 

wavered ;  and  finally  amid  many  tears  prom- 
ised not  to  see  Roland  again.  When  he  came 
to  the  castle,  Faith  was  to  explain  every  thing 
to  him,  and  Faith  really  thought  that  the  tie 
was  but  a  youthful  fancy,  and  would  be  easily 
broken. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  ENTRANCE  OF  SORROW. 

*  Alas  !  by  some  degree  of  woe 

We  every  bliss  must  gain, 
The  heart  can  ne'er  a  transport  kno\r 
That  never  feels  a  pain." 

"  The  primal  duties  shine  aloft  like  stars." 

"QERHAPS  Agnes  intended  to  keep  her 
X  promise,  but  they  must  be  very  wise  and 
very  strong,  who  can  defy  surprises  that  take 
the  heart  by  storm.  One  summer  night  she 
was  in  the  garden.  It  had  been  raining;  the 
roof,  and  lintels,  and  the  flagged  steps  were  still 
wet,  and  the  damp  misty  air  was  heavy  with 
the  scent  of  flowers.  There  was  a  great  white 
rosebush  by  the  stone-wall  of  the  inclosure,  and 
she  stood  behind  it,  though  a  heavy  fog  had 
risen  from  the  Esk,  and  the  twilight  was  fast 
passing  into  the  dark.  She  was  anxious  and 
expectant,  and  had  come  out  into  the  silent 
place  for  a  few  minutes  rest. 


THE  ENTRANCE    OF  SORROW.  3? 

It  had  been  one  of  those  contrary  days  when 
every  household  event  is  out  of  order.  The 
mother  and  babe  were  both  sick,  something  was 
wrong  in  the  byre  among  the  milking  cows,  the 
supper  was  belated,  the  servants  hurried  and 
cross,  even  Faith  was  worried  and  unlike  her- 
self. Agnes  had  felt  that  for  a  few  moments 
she  must  escape  the  sense  of  duty,  the  cry  of 
pain,  the  hurry  of  the  household  work.  And 
if  the  garden  was  damp  and  misty,  it  was  also 
sweet  and  quiet,  and  full  of  that  inexpressible 
sympathy  which  makes  us  feel  the  friendship 
of  the  hills  and  streams,  and  the  blossoming 
flowers. 

She  stood  by  the  rose  bush  quite  still,  in  a 
simply  receptive  mood.  Many  tangled  threads 
of  .thought  drifted  through  her  mind,  and  in 
some  slightly  conscious  way  she  challenged 
them,  but  Roland  Graeme  was  the  underlying 
sentiment  that  colored  all.  She  knew  that  the 
time  had  arrived  for  his  visit ;  she  wondered 
what  he  would  do  and  say;  and  what  her 
father  would  do  and  say,  but  she  did  not  dare 
to  question  her  own  heart  upon  the  matter. 

Suddenly  she  looked  up.  A  tall  figure  was 
coming  through  the  mist  and  mirk,  straight  and 


3»  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

swiftly  toward  her.  It  was  too  dark  to  distin- 
guish any  peculiar  feature,  but  she  knew  the 
poise  of  the  haughty  head,  and  the  swing  of 
the  rapid  tread.  Before  she  could  consciously  de- 
cide on  her  own  movements,she  had  passed  from 
behind  the  shadow  of  the  rose  bush,  Roland 
had  recognized  her,  and  bending  across  the  low 
wall,  had  lifted  her  face  to  his  own,  and  kissed 
it. 

Then  what  hurried  words  of  affection  fol- 
lowed !  What  passionate  avowals  of  constancy  ! 
What  entreaties !  What  assurances  !  And  yet 
when  all  was  said,  how  conscious  both  were, 
that  love's  sweetest  meanings  are  not  to  be 
spoken.  Roland  had  been  coming  direct  to 
Harribee  House.  He  had  intended  no  conceal- 
ment. But  Agnes  feared  her  father.  She  knew 
that  if  it  came  to  a  question  between  them  she 
would  have  to  submit.  She  felt  utterly  unable 
to  face  the  moral  opposition  to  her  love,  and 
she  was  quite  determined  not  to  give  up  her 
lover. 

Her  disposition  precisely  suited  Roland's 
views.  "  I  will  keep  out  of  sight,"  he  said, 
"  and  to-morrow  night  at  Kirtle  Bridge,  I  will 
be  waiting."  Then  he  kissed  her  again,  and 


THE  ENTRANCE   OF  SORROW.  39 

stepped  back  into  the  misty  shadows  by  Esk 
side,  and  so  up  to  the  castle. 

His  visit  at  this  time  had  been  looked  for- 
ward to  very  anxiously  by  the  lovers.  On  it 
his  future  depended.  He  was  just  of  age,  and 
he  was  aware  that  he  was  to  receive  some  small 
sum  of  money  which  had  been  realized  for  him 
by  the  sale  of  his  father's  personal  effects.  He 
had  no  idea  as  to  its  amount,  but  he  under, 
stood  that  its  receipt  would  make  him  the  mas- 
ter of  his  own  destiny,  and  that  he  need 
expect  no  further  assistance  from  his  rela- 
tives. 

He  had  arrived  at  Castle  Graeme  in  the  after- 
noon and  found  his  uncle  quite  prepared  to 
meet  him.  Their  interview  was  perfectly  cour- 
teous. If  Lord  Tilbert  had  never  been  affec- 
tionate, neither  had  he  been  actively  unkind. 
Roland  Graeme  had  no  complaint  to  make  when 
he  said  "  Roland,  you  are  now  of  age.  I  claim 
no  further  control  over  you.  When  your  father 
died,  I  invested  all  his  personal  property  in 
your  name  and  for  your  benefit.  The  sum 
realized  was  five  thousand  two  hundred  pounds. 
I  placed  it  in  the  funds,  and  I  have  never 
touched  a  shilling  of  it.  Your  support  and 


40  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

education  has  been  ungrudgingly  provided  for 
by  Miss  Graeme  and  myself ,  so  that  the 
original  sum  with  its  accumulated  interest,  is  at 
your  disposal.  I  advise  you  to  buy  a  commis- 
sion in  a  good  marching  regiment.  But  I  claim 
no  further  right  to  interfere  in  your  life.  It  is 
now  in  your  own  hands." 

The  words  were  spoken  without  apparent 
feeling  of  any  kind,  and  with  a  grave  courtesy 
Lord  Graeme  knew  well  how  to  assume.  They 
impressed  the  young  man  with  a  sense  of  kind, 
ness  and  gratitude. 

"  Lord  Graeme,"  he  answered,  "  you  have 
done  better  for  me  than  many  in  your  place 
would  have  done.  Y"ou  are  not  to  blame  for 
the  wrong  my  father  did  me ;  and  I  do  not 
blame  you,  because  you  receive  the  advantage 
of  it.  Sometimes  I  have  felt  that  I  was  an  in- 
truder here  ;  but  I  shall  intrude  no  more,  and  I 
ask  your  pardon  for  any  annoyance  I  have  in- 
nocently  been  the  cause  of  to  you." 

And  Lord  Graeme  was  more  moved  by  the 
frank  speech  than  he  cared  to  avow ;  but  he 
said,  "  Why  then,  Roland,  you  are  still  a  Graeme 
though  your  'scutcheon  be  barred  by  others' 
fault ;  and  look  you,  I  like  the  brave  way  in 


THE  ENTRANCE   OF  SORROW.  4* 

which  you  take  your  wrong — and  it  may  be — • 
that  it  will  be  righted." 

He  said  the  last  words  looking  downward, 
very  slowly,  and  as  if  they  were  reluctantly 
forced  from  him.  "  I  think  your  aunt  desires 
to  see  you  before  you  go  away  ;  but  you  need 
not  hurry  your  departure.  The  red  room  is 
still  yours." 

"  It  will  be  better  for  me  to  go  at  once.  I 
have  my  career  to  make.  I  have  a  friend  who 
will  meet  me  very  soon,  and  we  shall  return  to 
London  together." 

"  As  you  will." 

To  Roland  six  thousand  pounds,  more  or  less, 
was  a  large  sum  of  money.  He  was  elated  with 
the  propect  of  controlling  it.  And  his  first 
thought  had  been  Agnes  Harribee.  He  meant 
to  ask  Matthew  for  his  daughter,.and  he  thought 
the  possession  of  so  much  money,  would  remove 
all  the  old  Covenanter's  scruples.  But  when 
Agnes  made  him  understand  how  hopeless  the 
request  would  be,  he  was  glad  to  overleap  it, 
and  to  take  the  girljthe  loved,  without  attempting 
to  satisfy  prejudices  and  ideas  with  which  he 
had  not  a  particle  of  sympathy. 

And   Agnes   had   the  strength  which  weak 


42  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS, 

women  who  have  arrived  at  a  stubborn  point 
have.  She  was  chided  for  her  long  absence, 
and  scarcely  heard  or  heeded.  In  another  day 
she  would  have  escaped  from  all  the  petty  trials 
of  her  life.  It  happened  to  be  a  very  hard  day 
again.  In  the  gray  dawn,  before  she  was  well 
awake,  she  heard  her  father  in  the  yard ;  the 
boys  whistling  to  the  horses,  the  lowing  cows, 
the  whetstone  ringing  against  the  upright 
sickles.  It  was  the  first  day  of  harvest,  and 
the  light  oats  trembling  on  the  Esk  slopes,  were 
to  fall  before  the  reaper. 

Some  extra  hands  had  been  hired  for  the  field 
work,  and  there  were  extra  meals  to  prepare 
for  them — the  dew-drink  or  early  glass  of  beer 
before  going  afield,  the  ten-o-clock  of  bread  and 
bacon  ;  and  the  bread  and  cheese  for  "  cheesing 
time  "  in  mid  afternoon.  And  there  had  been 
no  extra  hands  hired  for  the  house  work,  though 
the  mother  was  pale  and  weak  from  yesterday's 
suffering,  and  the  babe  was  cutting  his  teeth  as 
hardly  as  very  healthy  children  frequently  do. 

So  it  was  a  hard  day  and  very  little  rest  for 
any  one ;  besides  which  the  weather  was  hot 
and  exhausting.  The  men  worked  until  the 
dark  hour  drove  them  from  the  field,  and 


THE  ENTRANCE   OF  SORROW.  43 

Matthew  was  so  weary  that  he  made  no  attempt 
to  apply  the  few  verses  of  the  psalm  he  read. 
Soon  after  nine  all  were  asleep  but  Faith  and 
Agnes,  and  the  fretful  babe.  Even  the  mother 
had  fallen  into  that  dead  slumber  with  which 
nature  restores  the  throbbing  nerves.  So  Faith 
had  brought  wee  Davie  into  her  own  room,  and 
it  seemed  to  Agnes  as  if  the  child  never  would 
shut  his  eyes..  Thinking  of  Roland  waiting  for 
her  on  Kirtle  Bridge,  she  grew  almost  hysterical 
when  she  looked  at  them,  wide  open  as  if  the 
hour  was  noon-day. 

"  Is  there  naething  you  can  do,  to  put  that 
bairn  to  sleep,  Faith  ?  I'm  maist  beside  mysel' 
for  an  hour's  rest.  I'll  no  be  fit  for  a  hand's 
turn  the  morrow." 

"  He'll  no  go  to  sleep  till  he's  worn  himsel' 
oot.  The  puir  wee  laddie  has  a  toothache  that 
would  keep  men  folk  waking  nae  doubt.  Tak' 
your  pillow  and  go  and  lie  down  aside  Phemie, 
She'll  never  heed  you." 

"  Phemie  is  worse  than  Davie.  She  moans 
and  talks  and  mutters,  and  has  such  fearsome 
dreams,  there's  no  a  wink  o'  sleep  where  she  is." 

"  Weel  then,  try  the  sofa  in  the  best  room. 
Get  your  first  sleep,  and  ye'll  be  the  better  o* 


44  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

it ;  and  then  you  can  mind  the  bairn,  and 
let  me  hae  an  hour  or  twa  afore  the  day 
dawn." 

No  proposal  could  have  suited  Agnes  better. 
The  latticed  window  of  the  best  room  opened 
readily  by  a  handle.  It  was  near  the  ground. 
Escape  that  way  was  easy  and  noiseless.  For 
a  moment  she  hesitated,  then  she  lifted  her 
pillow. 

"And  I'll  tak  my  plaid  to  hap  mysel',''  she 
said,  "  it  will  be  enou'  this  warm  night.  Faith, 
maybe  it  isna  vera  kind  to  leave  you  your  lane. 
Davie  has  been  in  your  arms  a'  day." 

"  Dinna  think  o'  that.  You  are  younger  than 
I  am,  and  you  need  mair  sleep  ;  forbye,  you 
were  twice  to  the  field  to-day.  Nae  wonder  you 
are  weary." 

"  You  are  a  kind,  kind  lassie  !  Gie  me  a  kiss, 
Faith." 

Oh  in  the  years  that  followed  how  often  Faith 
thought  of  the  pretty  child-like  face  lifted  to  her 
for  a  moment !  How  often  she  reproached 
herself  for  the  touch  of  impatience  with  which 
she  had  granted  the  request.  For,  somehow, 
though  the  words  and  action  were  loving  and 
sweet,  there  was  in  Faith's  heart  a  feeling  that 


THE  ENTRANCE   OF  SORROW.  45 

a  little  help  and  patience  would  have  been 
still  more  loving  and  sweet. 

But  no  fear,  no  presentiment  of  what  the 
girl  was  on  the  point  of  doing  troubled  her. 
She  walked  mechanically  about  the  room  with 
the  child,  until  suddenly  both  were  so  weary 
and  sleepy  that  she  did  not  remember  when 
they  sunk  down  together  upon  the  bed.  It  was 
dawn  when  she  stirred  ;  the  half-wakened  birds 
were  twittering  in  the  cherry-tree  that  covered 
that  side  of  the  house,  and  she  heard  her 
father's  voice  calling  the  men  to  another  day's 
labor. 

She  left  the  child  asleep  and  went  down  stairs, 
but  she  did  not  think  of  Agnes.  Even  when 
she  remembered  the  girl  it  was  with  a  kindly 
pity.  "  She'll  hae  the  weight  o'  the  run- 
ning to-day.  I'll  let  her  sleep  till  Davie 
wakes." 

When  Davie  awoke  she  was  busy  with  a  pan 
of  milk  in  the  dairy.  She  put  down  the  horn 
skimmer  and  went  to  the  best  room.  It  had  an 
air  as  empty  and  desolate  as  a  forsaken  nest. 
There  had  not  been  an  article  disturbed,  and  the 
window  was  wide  open.  She  stood  speechless 
a  moment,  she  could  not  bear  to  admit  to  her- 


46  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

self  the  calamity  she  feared.  Then  she  thought 
of  her  mother. 

Before  any  thing  else  she  felt  that  she  must 
assure  herself  of  the  girl's  flight.  Cautiously  she 
made  inquiries  of  the  servant-women  and  men, 
but  none  of  them  had  seen  Agnes  since  the  pre- 
vious day.  It  was  quite  certain  that  she  was 
not  on  the  place.  Faith  let  her  father  eat  his 
breakfast,  and  give  the  orders  for  the  day's 
work,  and  then  she  called  him  into  the  best 
room.  It  was  such  an  unusual  proceeding,  that 
he  asked  querulously :  "  What  are  you  needing 
me  for,  the  day,  Faith  ?  Is  your  mother  or  the 
little  lad  waur?  " 

"  It's  no  them,  fayther.     It's  Agnes." 

"What's  the  matter  wi'  Agnes  ?" 

"  I  canna  find  her  high  or  low,  up  or  down. 
I'm  feared  she's  gane  awa'  wi'  somebody." 

Matthew  stared  blankly  at  her  a  moment, 
then  asked,  "  Did  you  see  Roland  Graeme  here- 
aboot,  yesterday?" 

"  I  never  saw  a  sight  o'  him." 

But  he  was  at  the  castle,  and  likewise  at 
Mosskirtle.  Ane  o'  the  men  met  him  on  the 
hill-side.  Why  dinna  you  speak?" 

"  I  daurna  say  what  I'm  fearing." 


THE  ENTRANCE   OF   SORROW.  47 

"  Do  you  think  she  has  gane  wi'  him  ?'* 
"  Ay,  I  think  sae.     Oh  Agnes  !  Agnes  !  " 
"  If  that's  your  thocht,  you'll  no  dare  to  be 
greeting    after    her.     Let    her    gae.     She's  a 
wicked  lass,  and  I'll  ware  neither  tears  nor  care 
on  her." 

But  ah  what  a  wretched  heart  he  carried  to 
the  harvest  field  that  day  !  He  tried  to  work 
in  vain.  Before  noon  he  was  compelled  to  put 
down  his  sickle.  The  uncertainty  made  him 
sick,  besides  there  was  a  whisper  of  his  trouble 
among  the  reapers,  and  he  could  not  bear  the 
looks  of  inquiry  cast  at  him.  He  took  a  horse 
and  went  into  Mosskirtle.  When  near  the 
village  he  met  a  group  of  boys  hunting  black- 
berries, and  one  of  them  ran  to  him  with  a 
paper. 

"  I  was  coming  out  to  Harribee,  master,  wi" 
it ;  but  I  foregathered  wi'  Dick  Musgrave  and 
the  lave,  and  I  forgot  a  aboot  it,  till  I  saw  your 
braid  bonnet  at  the  brig  foot." 

Matthew  heeded  not  the  apology,  he  was 
reading  the  few  lines  Roland  Graeme  had 
written  him.  Such  letters  are  in  spirit  all  alike. 
However  they  may  be  worded  they  amount  to 
the  same  thing — "  we  wanted  our  own  way  and 


48  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

we  have  taken  it,"  in  defiance  of  every  claim,  of 
every  loving  tie,  of  every  duty.  As  usual  also 
there  was  a  hope  of  pardon  and  an  offer  of  any 
obedience  but  just  the  one  that  included  the 
whole. 

The  boy  had  joined  his  companions  again, 
and  Matthew  heard  their  shouts  and  laughter 
through  his  hard  mental  struggle.  A  homely 
commonplace  figure  he  made,  sitting  motion- 
less on  his  shaggy  pony  in  the  white  stony 
road  ;  but  all  the  same,  within  his  soul  he  was 
doing  battle  with  some  of  the  fiercest  griefs  and 
shames  that  assail  humanity. 

He  thought  of  his  honorable  name,  of  his 
spotless  kirk  record,  of  the  men  who  would 
privately  rejoice  o'er  his  downcome,  of  what 
his  neighbors,  and  his  servants,  and  his  friends 
and  enemies,  would  say.  And  though  he  was 
only  a  border  shepherd,  his  good  name  was 
dearer  to  him  than  gold,  and  these  things  were 
of  vital  importance — besides,  he  hated  the 
Graemes.  The  bitterest  part  of  the  trial  was, 
that  he  did  not  feel  as  if  God  had  stood  by  his 
cause  with  them.  He  had  been  very  jealous 
for  the  Lord,  and  for  his  saints  ;  and  the  seed 
of  the  wicked,  the  very  men  whom  his  soul 


THE  ENTRANCE   OF  SORROW.  49 

despised,  had  been  permitted  to  humble 
him. 

He  would  say  nothing  about  the  matter. 
To  his  wife  he  gave  Roland's  note,  but  he 
would  not  listen  either  to  her  entreaties  or 
her  laments.  Faith  was  ordered  to  remove 
everything  out  of  his  sight  that  could  recall 
a  child  so  selfish  and  disobedent,  or  which 
in  any  way  implied  that  she  had  once  been  a 
beloved  daughter  of  his  household. 

Lord  Tilbert  took  the  news  in  a  very  differ- 
ent fashion.  He  had  stopped  at  the  black- 
smith's to  have  a  nail  fastened  in  his  horse's 
shoe,  and  a  foolish  fellow  told  him  the  story. 
He  felled  him  to  the  ground,  and  then  turned 
to  the  smith,  and  asked  if  it  was  true. 

"True  enough,  my  lord." 

"  Which  daughter  was  it  ?  " 

"The  bonnie ane.  Maister  Roland  has  aye 
been  riningwild  aboot  her." 

"  Agnes  Harribee  ?  " 

"Just  sae." 

Then  he  put  down  the  horse's  foot,  and 
Graeme  mounted,  and  galloped  away — "  like 
the  diel,"  said  the  loungers  around  the  anvil. 

It  was  to  Terres  he  went  first  in  his  wrath. 


50  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

She  listened  to  his  intemperate  words  with 
scorn,  she  mocked  at  his  passion,  she  irritated 
him  to  fury  by  praising  the  "  do  and  dare  " 
spirit  of  Roland  who  had  carried  off  one  of  old 
Harribee's  daughters  while  he,  himself,  had 
been  hanging  around  the  skirts  of  the  other, 
like  a  love-sick  school-boy. 

"  Upon  my  word  this  beardless  stripling  is  a 
true  Graeme,"  she  cried.  I  always  liked  the 
spirit  of  the  young  cock-farthing.  I  am  glad  I 
gave  him  five  hundred  pounds." 

"  Terres,  are  you  mad?  Gave  him  five  hun- 
dred pounds?" 

"  I  gave  it.  Why  not  ?  The  money  is  my 
own.  A  man  that  can  carry  off  his  bride ! 
Indeed  I  have  a  great  respect  for  him.  I  wish 
I  had  given  him  a  thousand." 

"  You  are  only  trying  to  anger  me.  When 
you  have  exhausted  every  other  human  being, 
you  try  to  torment  me." 

"Perhaps  so  ;  quarreling  with  you  after  ordi- 
nary people,  is  like  aqua-fortis  after  brandy. 
Sometimes  I  like  the  aqua-fortis." 

"  Did  you  give  him  five  hundred  pounds  ?  " 

"  I  have  said  so." 

"You  had  no  right    to." 


THE  ENTRANCE   OF  SORROW.  51 

"  I  think  we  had  better  not  discuss  either  his 
or  my  rights." 

"  Will  you  give  me  five  hundred    pounds  ?  " 

"  If  you  dare  run  away  with  Faith  Harri- 
bee." 

"  I  will  do  it." 

"  I  defy  you.  My  five  hundred  is  quite  safe. 
Bah  !  Keep  your  temper,  Tilbert,  if  you  want 
to  keep  your  good  looks.  You  are  positively 
ugly  this  morning." 

Then  he  flung  himself  out  of  the  room  with 
a  mouthful  of  such  words  as  can  only  be  print- 
ed with  their  first  and  last  letters ;  and  Terres 
met  them  with  a  laugh  which  echoed  in  his 
angry  heart  long  after  he  was  out  of  the  reach 
of  her  voice. 

But  most  men  get  more  love  than  they  de- 
serve, and  when  Graeme  spoke  to  his  sister  in 
the  evening  on  the  same  subject,  but  in  a  more 
reasonable  manner,  he  found  her  just  as  sympa- 
thetic to  its  mood. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  ought  to  see  Harribee 
and  acquit  myself  of  any  blame  in  Roland's 
conduct  ;  I  feel  as  if  it  were  my  duty,  Terres." 

"  Have  you  at  length  made  the  acquaintance 
of  duty  ?  Why  should  you  see  Harribee  ?  " 


$2  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"  The  Harribees  have  been  the  Graeme's 
neighbors  for  nearly  a  thousand  years.  Matthew 
Harribee  and  I  have  never  been  unfriends. 
All  our  intercourse  has  been  civil  and  honor- 
able." 

"  Depend  upon  it,  he  thinks  as  badly  of  you 
as  he  can  do —  and  I  should  judge  he  was  able 
to  think  very  badly  indeed  of  any  one  not  cut 
on  his  own  pattern.  I  would  not  interfere  with 
the  old  whig.  He  is  sure  to  regard  your  sym- 
pathy as  an  impertinence,  and  answer  you  ac- 
cording to  your  folly." 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Of  course  you  don't.  When  a  man  asks 
advice,  it  is  not  advice  he  wants,  but  approba- 
bation.  Let  old  Harribee  and  his  troubles 
alone.  Why  should  you  meddle  or  make  in 
the  affairs  of  a  man  clearly  heart-set  against 
you  ?  " 

"  Our  land  and  lot  has  been  cast  among  a 
dour,  stern  set.  It  had  been  good  for  the 
borders  if  the  preachers  had  never  seen  them, 
a  sour  ill-willy  have  their  own  way  lot." 

"  There  are  many  crooked  sticks  in  this 
world,  and  tempers.  When  a  man  is  not 
naturally  amiable  and  conciliating,  he  ought  to 


THE  ENTRANCE   OF  SORROW.  53 

be  thankful  if  he  can  do  his  quarrelling  at 
home." 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  his  sister's  advice, 
when  Graeme  next  met  Matthew  Harribee  he 
stumbled  into  the  mistake  of  expressing  in  a 
blundering  fashion  his  disapproval  of  Roland's 
conduct.  Matthew  listened  to  him  with  a  face 
resentful  and  dark. 

"  There's  nae  need  o'  words,"  he  said.  "  If 
the  lass  hadna  been  a  wicked  lass,  she  wouldna 
hae  foregathered  hersel'  wi'  ane  o'  your  name 
and  kind.  She  has  gane  to  her  ain.  I  hae 
naething  further  to  say  anent  it." 

But  Harribee's  home  was  a  dismal  place  dur- 
ing the  weeks  and  months  following  this  event. 
The  name  of  Agnes  had  been  dropped  from 
the  family  speech,  and  the  family  prayers,  but 
it  was  not  so  easy  to  banish  the  memory  of  the 
girl  from  the  hearts  of  those  who  still  loved  her. 
One  day  Faith  found  her  mother  in  a  passion  of 
grief  before  the  big  bible. 

"  See  here,  Faith  !  "  she  sobbed,  "  my  bairfl's 
name  has  been  crossed  oot  o'  The  Book  !  Oh 
but  your  fayther  is  a  hard  man  !  I  wonder  if 
God  hasna  mair  pity  on  us  !  " 

The  poor  woman  sobbed   all  the  night   after 


54  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

this  discovery.  She  had  been  growing  daily 
weaker  and  weaker  and  less  able  to  hide  emo- 
•tions  which  she  had  hitherto  kept  between  God 
and  her  own  soul.  But  she  made  no  complaint, 
and  the  household  had  grown  familiar  with  her 
pale  face,  and  silence,  and  weakness.  One 
Sunday  she  sat  in  her  place  at  the  family  table 
as  usual,  but  she  fainted  during  the  long  even- 
ing worship,  and  Matthew  carried  her  up-stairs 
in  his  arms. 

She  never  came  down  them  again.  When 
the  first  snow  of  the  season  was  whitening  the 
fells  and  moors,  she  touched  Matthew  early  one 
morning  and  said  "  wake  up,  gudeman,  and  gie 
me  your  farewell.  I'm  going  hame  !  I'm  going 
hame  !" 

It  was  a  great  shock  to  him.  He  had  not 
thought  of  her  death.  He  was  almost  angry 
at  her  eager  anticipation  of  the  change.  Nor 
was  his  grief  untinged  with  remorse.  He  re- 
membered, when  too  late,  how,  in  the  satisfac- 
tion of  his  own  anger,  he  had  quite  neglected 
to  share  her  sorrow  for  her  lost  daughter. 

"  You  hae  dropped  my  puir  Agnes  frae  your 
prayers,  gudeman,"  she  had  said  on  her  last 
earthly  sabbath,  "  but  I'll  soon  be  whar  I  can 


THE  ENTRANCE   OF  SORROW.  55 

pray  for  her,  e'en  on  the  vera  steps  o'  the  altar." 
And  he  had  seen  the  large  tears  roll  down  her 
wan  cheeks,  and  not  heeded  them.  Now  God 
had  wiped  them  away.  She  would  need  a  com- 
forter no  more. 

He  suffered  very  much,  but  it  was  not  Mat- 
thew's way  to  complain  of  suffering.  It  was 
God's  will.  In  the  end  that  always  sufficed 
for  him.  And  there  was  still  the  little  lad  and 
the  farm  to  live  for, — and  Faith.  Faith  was  an 
afterthought,  for  Faith  had  never  needed 
thought ;  she  was  always  the  one  to  take  it  for 
others.  She  had  been  her  mother's  right  hand 
and  also  her  father's  strength  and  counselor, 
although  Matthew  never  thought  of  her  in  that 
light  and  would  have  been  offended  if  any  one 
had  dared  to  say  so. 

But  it  was  in  Faith's  ear  the  dying  mother 
whispered  her  last  desires.  "You'll  keep  a 
prayer  in  your  heart  for  Agnes ;  and  you'll  be 
gude  to  your  fayther,  dear,  and  never  let  him 
want  any  o'  his  comforts  and  likings ;  and  Oh, 
Faith !  I'll  hae  to  leave  my  wee  Davie  wi' 
you  !  " 

"  You  can  do  it  safely,  mother.  I'll  ne'er 
say  a  cross  word  to  him.  He  sail  want  nae 


56  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

gude  thing,  nor  any  bit  o'  pleasuring  I  can  get 
for  him.  Clasp  my  hand  on  the  promise, 
mother!  Dear  mother!  sweet  mother!  Never 
fear  but  Faith  will  do  her  duty." 

And  the  dying  woman  fixed  her  gaze  upon 
her  daughter's  brave,  true  face,  and  so  gazing 
and  smiling,  she  passed 

"  Above  the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot 
Which  men  call  earth," 

into  "  the  palace  of  eternity." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  WILL   OF   GOD. 

**  Not  as  we  will !  "  the  sound  grows  sweet 
Each  time  our  lips  the  words  repeat ; 
"  Not  as  we  will  !  "  the  darkness  feels 
More  safe  than  light  when  this  thought  steals 
Like  whispered  voice  to  calm  and  bless 
All  unrest,  and  all  loneliness. 
"  Not  as  we  will !  "  because  the  One 
Who  loved  us  first  and  best  has  gone 
Before  us  on  the  road,  and  still 
For  us  must  all  His  love  fulfill— 
"Not  as  we  will!" 

— HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 

THE  incurable  ills  are  the  imaginary  ones. 
Matthew's  sorrow  was  now  a  real  sorrow, 
and  he  bore  it  with  a  grand  and  patient  resigna- 
tion. Hearts  take  a  deal  of  breaking  that  have 
their  help  in  God  Almighty,  and  the  inevita- 
ble loss  was  borne  with  submissive  fortitude 
because  it  was  His  will.  Very  quietly  the 
house  settled  itself  into  the  new  order  of  its 
depleted  number.  And  no  one  is  indispensa- 
ble. This  is  one  of  the  saddest  and  most  humili- 


5  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

ating  of  all  natural  reflections,  but  the  heart 
must  admit  its  truth.  The  husband,  the  wife, 
the  father,  the  mother,  the  lover  is  taken  away, 
and  the  broken  home-ranks  draw  closer  together, 
and  the  vacant  place  is  in  some  way  filled. 

So  the  spring  came  again  and  the  shepherd 
went  to  the  fells  and  folded  his  ewes  and  lambs. 
He  plowed  the  head-rig  on  his  fields,  and 
flung  the  seed-grain  over  them.  When  the 
summer  was  over  the  land,  he  swept  the  scythe 
from  right  to  left,  and  cut  cleanly  through  the 
full  swath  while  it  was  yet  wet  with  dew.  In 
the  autumn  he  was  first  in  the  harvest-field, 
and  though  he  cared  not  for  the  in-coming  rev- 
elry, when  all  were  beating  time  with  cadence 
and  the  house  was  ringing  around  with  the  har- 
vest song, 

"  We  have  plowed  !  we  have  sowed  ! 
We  have  reaped  !  we  have  mowed  ! 
We  have  brought  home  every  load 
With  a  hip!  hip!  Hurrah!" 

he  had  his  own  song  of  gratitude,  and  was 
happy  in  his  increase. 

And  the  child  became  more  and  more  to  his 
heart.  For  he  was  a  bold,  loving  little  fellow, 
with  a  nature  like  his  sister  Faith's,  sweet  and 


THE    WILL   OF  GOD.  59 

strong.  Every  hope  was  centered  in  him.  Mat- 
thew had  always  been  a  close  man,  watchful 
over  his  outgo  and  income,  but  he  now  looked 
with  a  double  care  after  his  flocks  and  crops. 
On  Harribee  land  and  farm  no  slip-string 
ways  were  tolerated.  He  knew  the  value  of 
every  thing  he  possessed  to  a  half-penny,  and 
he  began  to  be  regarded  as  an  able  man,  one, 
who  if  there  were  a  fine  cow  or  a  drove  of  sheep 
for  sale,  was  certain  to  have  the  wherewith  to 
buy. 

Faith  heartily  seconded  his  plans  for  her 
brother  ;  though  she  did  not  tie  her  heart  down 
to  this  one  object.  Agnes  was  still  in  all  her 
thoughts.  Anxiously  she  watched  for  a  letter 
from  her ;  but  as  weeks  passed  into  months 
and  years,  she  ceased  gradually  to  expect  what 
never  came.  Privately,  Matthew  had  shared 
her  hope,  but  he  never  admitted  it,  even  to  his 
own  heart,  and  perhaps  was  only  conscious  of 
how  really  a  vital  part  of  his  life  it  had  been, 
by  the  keen  pang  with  which  he  finally  put  the 
girl  forever  out  of  his  memory. 

Faith  also  had  her  lover.  She  did  not  make 
the  circumstance  one  to  which  the  whole  house- 
hold pleasure  and  economy  was  to  give  place, 


6o  A  BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

but,  nevertheless,  he  was  very  dear  to  her.  She 
had  loved  Archie  Renwick  in  her  calm,  stead- 
fast way,  ever  since  she  had  thought  of  a  lover  ; 
he  only,  had  received  from  her  any  maidenly 
encouragement.  Archie  was  a  distant  cousin  of 
her  mother's  ;  a  jaunty,  handsome  young  farm- 
er who  was  perhaps  less  deserving  of  her  favor 
than  she  supposed.  But  there  appears  to  be  a 
perverse  tendency  in  the  best  and  strongest 
women  toward  those  men  who  are  morally  and 
mentally  weaker  than  themselves. 

There  had  been  no  objection  made  to  the 
proposed  match.  Whatever  Matthew  thought 
of  the  young  man,  he  had  no  fault  to  find  with 
his  family.  The  Renwicks,  like  the  Harribees 
had  been  great  "riders,"  and  also  great  saints; 
and  their  present  representative  was  inclined  to 
be  boastful — according  to  the  mood  he  was  in 
— about  the  men  of  both  spirits.  It  was  said 
quietly  that  he  liked  to  be  chief  of  the  young 
chaps  in  the  change-house,  and  that  when  he 
was  in  that  peculiar  condition  called  market- 
merry,  he  was  equally  ready  to  troll  out  a  good 
rieving  song,  or  thrill  the  smoky  rafters  with 
the  solemn  passion  of  a  Covenanting  battle, 
hymn. 


THE    WILL   OF  GOD.  6 1 

But  of  these  things  Faith  heard  nothing ; 
and  she  saw  no  danger  in  the  rather  riotous 
good-nature  which  was  partly  real,  and  partly 
affected.  She  never  thought  of  his  fine  voice 
and  mettlesome  violin  playing  leading  him 
astray.  She  was  rather  attracted  than  warned 
by  qualities  so  different  from  the  sombre  vir- 
tues of  her  father.  Archie's  father  had  left  him 
a  few  thousand  pounds,  and  the  running  lease 
of  a  good  farm  belonging  to  Lord  Graeme.  In 
worldly  matter?  he  was  well-to-do  when  he  first 
sought  Faith  for  his  wife  ;  but  he  had  not  even 
held  his  own ;  and  border  men  had  begun  to 
look  dubiously  on  any  business  transaction 
which  involved  a  risk  with  Archie  Renwick. 

Matthew  was  quickly  sensitive  to  this  feeling, 
and  he  began  to  consider  how  best  to  tie  safely 
in  Faith's  own  power  the  sum  of  money  he 
intended  to  leave  her.  But  he  made  no  undue 
haste  in  the  matter.  Faith  had  promised  to 
remain  with  David,  until  the  child  was  well 
over  all  the  dangerous  places  of  infantile  years, 
and  sturdy  and  strong  enough  to  take  his  way 
over  the  fells  to  the  parish  school  at  Mosskirtle, 
every  day. 

But  years  in  which  nothing  particular  happens 


62  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

go  by  very  rapidly ;  and  almost  before  either 
the  father  or  the  sister  realized  the  fact,  the 
child  was  in  his  seventh  year,  and  talking  with 
eager  enthusiasm  of  the  wonderful  times  before 
him — the  tramp  every  morning  and  evening  to 
and  from  Mosskirtle,  with  Gibby  Foster  and 
Dick  Musgrave,  and  the  collie  dogs  which  each 
boy  particularly  cared  for.  It  was  evident  the 
children  had  their  confidences,  and  plans,  and 
expectations,  and  Matthew  and  Faith  smiled 
at  each  other  as  they  listened  to  them.  They 
were  so  innocent,  so  bright  with  hope,  so  full 
of  brave  intentions. 

"  As  soon  as  the  snow  is  gone,  I  may  start 
for  school,  eh,  fayther  ?  "  he  asked  one  stormy 
night  in  February. 

"  You  may  that,  Davie.  And  you  sail  hae 
the  bible,  and  the  spelling-book,  and  the  shorter 
carritch  I  used  mysel'  saxty  years  syne.  I 
hae  them  in  a  kist  up-stairs." 

"The  spring  willna  be  lang  now,  Dick  says." 

"  Ay,  though  we're  in  the  hole  o'  the  winter 
yet,spring  is  na  far  a  hint.  And  if  its  weather-like, 
you  sail  gae  wi  me  next  market  day  to  Hawick, 
and  I'll  buy  you  a  new  slate,  and  some  pencils, 
and  the  like  o'  thae  things  ;  forbye  a  gude  braid 


THE    WILL   OF  GOD.  63 

bonnet,  and  a  plaidie  to  hap  yoursel'  in — for 
it's  aye  cauld-like  on  Kirtle  brow." 

The  boy  talked  continually  of  this  trip  to 
Hawick,  and  he  looked  forward  impatiently  for 
the  day.  Often,  during  the  night  before  it, 
Faith  heard  him  steal  quietly  from  his  bed,  and 
lift  the  curtain  and  peep  out.  "  The  stars  are 
a'  bright,  and  the  lift  clear,"  she  heard  him  tell 
himself,  and  then  with  a  little  sigh  of  content- 
ment in  the  knowledge,  he  laid  him  down,  and 
tried  to  sleep  again. 

The  morning  was  fair,  and  not  very  cold. 
He  was  full  of  excitement,  and  Matthew  could 
not  help  catching  a  ray  or  two  from  the  boy's 
sunny  temper.  They  went  off  in  the  tax-cart 
together,  Faith  and  Phemie,  and  the  too  young 
lassies,  all  standing  in  the  open  door  to  watch 
them  away — Davie,  rosy  and  noisy  with  delight, 
and  Matthew  half-ashamed,  and  yet  pleased 
with  the  unusual  atmosphere  of  a  holiday. 
And  all  the  long  morning  Faith  thought  of 
them  with  a  smile,  as  she  went  about  her 
work. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  all  was  in  spotless 
order  and  she  took  out  her  big  wheel  and  began 
to  spin.  Never  had  Harribee  house-place 


64  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

looked  more  bright  and  attractive.  It's  great 
oak  rafters  were  full  of  goodly  hams,  and 
flitches,  and  of  bunches  of  sweet  herbs.  Its 
walls  were  gay  with  copper  and  pewter  utensils, 
and  with  old  delft  and  showy  earthenware.  Over 
the  high  chimney-piece  among  the  tall  brass 
candlesticks  there  were  many  rosettes  of  vari- 
ously-colored satin  ribbons,  framed  and  glazed 
— Matthew's  market  prizes  for  fine  sheep  and 
cattle,  and  highly  valued  by  him.  A  bright 
fire  of  coal  and  peat  blazed  in  the  wide  fire- 
place, and  the  spotless  sanded  floor  was  bright- 
ened by  a  strip  of  carpet,  and  a  large  hearthrug 
of  white  sheep  skins. 

On  this  strip  of  carpet  Faith  stood  beside 
her  spinning  wheel,  stepping  to  and  fro  with  a 
strong,  alert  grace,  and  singing  as  she  did  so 
one  of  the  most  plaintive  of  all  Scotch  La- 
ments : 

"  There's  nae  Cov'nant  noo  lassie, 
There's  nae  Cov'nant  noo  ; 
The  holy  League  and  Cov'nant, 
Is  a'  broken  through. 
There's  nae  Renwick  noo,  lassie  ; 
There's  nae  gude  Cargill, 
Nor  holy  Sabbath  preaching 
Upon  the  martyr's  hill." 

She  was  not  at  all  conscious  of  the  complain- 


THE    WILL   OF  GOD.  05 

ing  pathos  in  her  voice.  She  was  not  thinking 
of  the  Covenanters ;  but  her  nature  being  seri- 
ous and  poetic,  she  was  rendering  an  old  hymn 
of  her  people  with  all  the  passionate  regret 
which  inspired  it. 

Nor  did  she  know  how  in  her  grand  Doric 
simplicity  she  suggested  some  household  deity 
of  Homeric  days  ;  for  her  dress  was  but  a  plain 
gray  winsey  with  a  white  lawn  kerchief  crossed 
over  her  breast.  She  was  now  in  her  twenty- 
seventh  year,  a  perfect  woman  nobly  planned. 
Her  face,  though  large  and  brown,  was  very 
handsome,  her  stature  tall  and  finely  formed, 
and  her  beautiful  arms  long,  and  strong,  and 
rapid  in  all  their  movements,  were  the  very 
embodiment  of  the  cherishing  idea — the  arms 
to  cradle  helpless  infancy,  to  bear  up  the  weak, 
and  to  pillow  the  sick — a  woman  altogether 
of  ample  being,  such  as  are  ordained  for  help 
and  consolation. 

As  she  stepped  backward  and  forward  before 
the  big  wheel,  she  glanced  frequently  out  of 
the  window.  The  day  had  clouded  after  the 
noon  hour.  She  began  to  fear  snow,  and  to 
watch  anxiously  for  her  father  and  Davie's 
return.  The  clock  struck  three.  She  walked 


66  A    BORDER   SPIEPHERDESS. 

to  the  door  and  looked  with  wistful  solicitude 
over  the  hills.  Then  she  resumed  her  work, 
but  without  the  song.  In  an  hour  she  hurriedly 
set  her  wheel  aside  and  again  looked  out. 
The  air  was  very  still,  the  sky  low  and  gray; 
a  feeling  of  alarm  mastered  all  her  facul- 
ties. 

She  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  she  saw  that 
the  milking  girls  who  were  just  leaving  for  the 
byre,  had  their  shawls  over  their  heads ;  so  she 
understood  that  they  also  expected  a  storm. 
An  old  woman  was  smoking  at  the  fireside, 
Phemie,  a  servant  who  had  been  in  Harribee 
Home  more  than  forty  years,  and  in  whom 
Faith  trusted  with  all  her  heart. 

"  Phemie,  I  see  naught  at  a'  of  fayther  and 
wee  Davie ;  and  I'm  feared  there's  a  storm 
brewing.  The  dogs  are  fauldingthe  sheep,  and 
they  are  ne'er  mista'en." 

Phemie  rose  and  went  to  the  door.  Slowly 
she  turned  her  brown,  wrinkled  face  to  the 
hills,  and  then  to  the  moss.  "  There's  a  storm 
coming  up  frae  auIJ  Solway,  lass.  There'll  be 
snaw  and  plenty  o'  it,  in  half  an  hour.  I  wish 
the  maister  was  by  Johnstone's  Scaur.  It's  a 
vera  bad  bit,  and  his  sight  isna  what  it  ance 


THE    WILL   OF  GOD.  67 

was,  though  you  daurna  say  the  like  o'  that  to 
him.  He'll  no  hear  tell  o'  it." 

Faith  had  turned  away  ere  the  sentence  was 
finished.  In  a  few  minutes  she  appeared  with 
her  dress  kilted  and  her  plaid  tightly  folded 
over  her  head  and  breast.  "  I'm  awa*  to  look 
for  them,  Phemie.  I  hae  a  sickness  at  my  heart 
anent  them.  You'll  keep  the  fires  and  a'  else 
as  they  should  be — and,  oh  Phemie  !  Phemie  ! 
think  o'  wee  Davie,  and  pray  God  for  their 
safety." 

"  I'se  do  my  duty,  Faith,  but  the  purposes  o' 
God  canna  be  changed  by  an  auld  wife's  tears. 
Come  woe,  or  come  weal,  we  hae  but  to  say, 
'  His  will  be  done  ! '  " 

Faith  shook  her  head  sorrowfully,  and  with 
a  heart  sunk  below  all  reasoning  with,  and  which 
would  only  answer  her  forebodings,  she  went 
hurrying  over  the  moor  amid  the  first  flakes  of 
the  coming  snow.  Ha'ppily  there  was  no  wind, 
and  she  knew  her  way  without  doubt  or  hesi- 
tation. It  soon  became  dark,  but  yet  all  was 
so  still  that  she  was  sure  if  her  father  had  been 
upon  the  moor  he  must  have  heard  and  an- 
swered her  repeated  calls. 

A  rapid  walk  of  two  miles  brought  her  to 


68  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

Johnstone's  Scaur,  a  narrow  pass  overhanging 
a  stony  ravine  nearly  one  hundred  feet  deep  ; 
and  here  she  frequently  paused,  cautiously  felt 
her  way  to  its  extreme  edge,  and  peering  over, 
loudly  called  her  father's  and  brother's  names. 
There  was  a  sort  of  sighing  wind  in  this  narrow 
gorge,  but  Faith's  ears  detected  upon  it  a 
mournful  tone  of  human  agony. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  God  \  They  are  at  the  Scaur 
bottom?  " 

She  never  reasoned  with  herself  as  to  the 
probability.  She  knew  it  vvith  that  certainty 
with  which  we  realize  a  dreaded  presentiment. 
Then  she  stood  a  moment  to  consider  how  mosf 
speedily  to  help  them.  She  could  go  back  half 
a  mile  and  enter  the  gorge  from  that  end  ;  or, 
she  could  go  forward  a  mile  and  enter  it  from 
the  village.  She  chose  the  latter  course  At 
the  village  she  could  get  lights  and  help,,  and 
she  felt  confident  that  both  were  needed. 

When  the  decision  was  made  she  followed  it 
out  with  a  swiftness  and  strength  that  was  mar- 
velous to  herself.  Her  soul  took  complete 
possession  of  all  her  faculties.  She  scarcely 
felt  her  own  feet ;  they  were  shod  with  brasSv 
and  the  angels  who  wait  upon  great  emergen- 


THE    WILL   OF  GOD.  69 

cies  held  her  up.  The  darkness  was  light  to 
her.  She  never  made  a  stumble  or  a  false 
step.  The  cold  she  never  felt.  It  was  not 
snowing  to  her.  Every  pulse  of  her  being  was 
bent  toward  one  object — help  /  for  the  beloved 
ones  lying  helpless  and  alone  in  storm  and  in 
mortal  agony. 

Her  head  was  bent  to  the  whirling  flakes, 
but  her  soul  was  uplifted.  She  had  come  to  an 
hour  of  life  in  which  she  forgot  all  about  creeds 
or  forms,  and  just  clung  to  the  very  robe  of  her 
Saviour.  Running,  and  praying  as  she  ran,  she 
soon  reached  the  village  change-house,  and 
with  white  lips  and  gleaming  eyes  she  pushed 
open  the  door  and  told  her  sorrowing  need. 

In  a  moment  half  a  dozen  men  were  pulling 
their  bonnets  over  their  brows  and  reaching 
down  their  plaids.  The  change-wife  lit  their 
lanterns,  and  put  into  Faith's  hands  a  flask  of 
whisky.  "  Tak'  it,  for  I'm  fearing  it  will  be 
sair  needed,"  she  sobbed.  "  Oh,  the  bonnie  bit 
bairn !  He  was  that  sweet  and  merry  this 
afternoon.  I'll  ne'er  forget  him." 

In  less  than  five  minutes  they  were  on  the 
road.  They  had  not  far  to  go.  Half-way  up 
the  gorge  they  found  Matthew  with  his  son  in 


7°  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

his  arms.  The  horse  lay  dead  in  its  traces. 
The  child  was  motionless  and  senseless,  but  the 
miserable  father,  with  a  broken  arm  and  a  ter- 
ribly crushed  ankle,  had  managed  to  get  his 
boy  into  the  neuk  of  his  plaid,  and  was  trying 
to  hirple  homeward  with  him.  And  oh,  how 
great,  how  wonderful  must  have  been  the 
human  love  that  could  even  contemplate  such 
a  walk ! 

But  when  Faith  and  help  came,  the  agony  he 
was  enduring  mastered  him.  He  saw  her  lay 
his  little  Davie  against  her  heart,  and  then  he 
too  lost  all  consciousness.  His  friends  made  a 
hammock  of  their  plaids  and  carried  him 
home,  but  Faith,  with  her  brother  in  her  arms, 
far  outstripped  them.  When  the  men  reached 
the  farm-house,  bearing  Matthew,  Faith  had 
had  little  David  in  a  hot  bath,  and  was  tenderly 
rubbing  his  small  motionless  limbs  before  the 
fire.  But  no  sign  of  consciousness  came  into 
the  wide-open  eyes,  and  when  the  doctor  bent 
over  him  he  shook  his  head  mournfully  and 
turned  away  to  attend  to  the  father's  more 
hopeful  injuries. 

Alas,  what  days  and  nights  of  agony  fol- 
lowed!  To  Matthew's  broken  limbs  were 


THE    WILL   OF  GOD.  71 

added  acute  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and 
severe  rheumatic  pains.  He  had  borne  all  with 
a  silent  patience  which  had  its  foundation  on 
the  rock  of  his  faith — the  will  of  God. 

"  Shall  we  receive  good  at  the  hand  of  the 
Lord,  and  not  evil?"  he  said  to  Phemie 
one  night  when  his  suffering  was  very  great, 
and  the  old  Cameronian  answered  steadily: 

"The  evil  is  gude,  if  He  send  it;  and 
though  He  slay  us,  maister,  we  must  e'en  trust 
in  Him." 

Still  Matthew's  faith  was  to  be  tested  by  a 
far  hotter  furnace.  One  day  he  was  told  that 
David  would  live ;  but  the  doctor  said  the 
words  mournfully,  and  Faith  wept  bitterly 
behind  her  apron.  Then  he  looked  at  old 
Phemie,  and  she  could  but  give  him  the  com- 
fort she  had  herself  always  found  sufficient : 

"  It  is  the  Lord's  doing,  maister.  He  must 
aye  do  what  seems  right  in  His  ain  sight." 

"  Bring  Davie  to  me." 

Then  they  brought  the  boy  in.  At  the  first 
glimpse  he  seemed  to  be  the  same  bright,  lovely 
boy  whom  he  had  so  proudly  taken  with  him  to 
Hawick  that  fateful  day.  But  in  another 
moment  Matthew  had  measured  the  depth  of 


72  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

his  trial.  The  child  would  never  be  more  than 
a  child.  The  light  of  intellect  was  gone  from, 
his  large  blue  eyes. 

"  Will  he  always  be  sae,  doctor  ?  Is  there  nae 
hope?  " 

"  There  is  no  hope,  Matthew." 

"  Then  leave  me  !  A'  you  leave  me  !  Leave 
me  wi'  Him  whose  hand  is  sae  heavy  on  me." 

It  was  not  so  much  a  request  as  a  bitter  cry ; 
the  cry  of  the  wounded  human  heart  to  its 
maker.  What  anguish  there  was  in  it !  As 
long  as  she  lived,  Faith  remembered  its  broken- 
hearted appeal. 

For  two  days  the  master  of  Harribee  spoke 
to  no  one.  He  neither  ate  nor  drank,  but 
remained  in  solitude  and  darkness.  The  struggle 
was  over  then.  He  had  kissed  the  hand  that 
smote  him,  and  been  comforted  above  all  mor- 
tal comprehension. 

"  It  is  a'  right,  Faith,"  he  said,  calmly.  "  I 
am  mair  than  satisfied.  My  God  has  proved 
me ;  but  I  can  say  with  brave  Walter  Myln,  '  I 
am  corn  ;  I  am  no  chaff.  Neither  with  wind 
shall  I  be  blown  awa',  nor  burst  by  flail ;  but  I 
will  baith  abide.' " 
.  Then  he  talked  long  and  solemnly  with  her 


THE    WILL   OF  GOD.  73 

about  the  farm  and  the  boy's  future,  and  she 
clasped  his  hands  between  her  own,  and  said  : 

"  Before  your  God,  and  my  God,  I  promise, 
you,  fayther,  I  will  never,  never  leave  him.  I 
will  die,  ere  I  see  a  hair  o'  his  dear  wee  head 
wranged.  I  will  put  no  one  s  welfare  or  pleas- 
ure afore  his.  It  is  the  truth  in  God's  ain 
hearing." 

"  Not  e'en  Archie  Renwick?" 

"  Not  e'en  Archie  Renwick." 


CHAPTER  V. 
ARCHIE  RENWICK'S  HEART. 

•**  How  brief  Death's  darkness !     But  one  faltering  step 
Into  the  night,  and  the  Master's  door 
Stands  wide  in  joyful  welcome." 

"Whoever  may 

Discern  true  ends  here  shall  grow  pure  enough 
To  love  them,  brave  enough  to  strive  for  them, 
And  strong  enough  to  reach  them,  though  the  road  be  rough." 

"T^AITH'S  sjlemn  promise  had  been  made  in 
X  the  exaltation  of  tenderness  and  solemnity 
of  self-abnegation  natural  to  an  hour  so  near 
the  horizon  of  the  eternal  life.  But  even  when 
she  came  to  consider  all  it  implied  in  a  more 
world-like  and  practical  spirit,  she  felt  no  desire 
to  release  herself  from  any  obligation  it  either 
warranted  or  implied.  Her  love  for  Davie  had 
much  of  the  maternal  element  in  it.  From  his 
very  birth  she  had  cradled  him  in  her  arms,  and 
soothed  all  his  baby  pains  and  sorrows.  Her 


ARCHIE  RENWICK'S  HEART.  75 

last  words  to  her  dying  mother  had  been  about 
him,  and  she  had  stepped  beyond  the  grave 
with  Faith's  tender  promises  for  the  babe  in 
her  ears. 

The  care  had  been  one  which  had  brought 
love  and  joy  with  it.  She  had  been  as  proud 
of  the  boy's  beauty,  and  spirit,  and  promising 
intellect,  as  Matthew  himself.  Together  they 
had  planned  great  futures  for  the  child.  Even 
the  university  and  the  pulpit  had  been  thought 
of  for  him.  His  great  calamity  had  only  made 
him  a  thousand-fold  dearer.  The  finger  of 
God  had  touched  him  ;  henceforward  he  was 
an  object  of  almost  sacred  affection. 

Matthew  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  promise 
Faith  had  made  him.  He  asked  no  re-iteration 
of  it,  but  made  his  last  testament  in  accord 
with  what  they  had  agreed  upon.  For  it  was 
now  evident  to  all  that  he  would  not  live  long. 
Some  internal  injury,  which  no  physician  could 
place  or  relieve,  was  wasting  his  large  frame 
rapidly. 

"  I'm  wearin'  awa',  Faith,  to  the  land  o'  the 
leal,"  he  said,  one  Sabbath  night,  as  the  house- 
hold were  gathering  round  his  big  chair  for 
4t  the  portion."  "I'll  put  aff  my  week-day 


76  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

claithes  for  the  raiment  o'  the  eternal  Sabbatu 
vera  soon,  I'm  thinkin'." 
"  Ay,  fayther,  but — 

"  '  There's  nae  sorrow  there, 
There's  neither  pain  nor  care 
And  the  day  is  aye  fair 
In  the  land  o*  the  leal  !  '  " 

"  Nane  o'  its  beauties  I'm  forgetting,  Faith, 
forbye  I'll  see  your  mither  and  the  bairns 
again.  There's  mair  to  go  to  than  to  leave. 
Come  near  to  me,  lads  and  lasses,  for  my  voice 
is  sair  failed,  and  I  hae  a  word  to  say  to  you 
afore  I  gae  a  road  I  sail  never  return.  My 
Maister  has  called  me,  and  I'm  going  to  Him. 
Tak'  notice  that  I  bear  testimony  this  night : 
He  has  been  a  gude  Maister  to  me.  Though 
He  has  slain  me,  my  heart  loves  Him  and  trusts 
in  Him.  Sae,  tak'  service  wi'  Him  and  dinna 
put  aff  your  duty.  For,  if  you  become  the 
servants  o'  the  diel,  you'll  find  that  sin  is  the 
fountain  o'  sorrow,  and  that  punishment  will 
follow  hard  upon  every  sin.  And  the  laws  o' 
God  require  no  constable  ;  they  execute  them- 
sel's. 

"And  dinna  be  telling  lies  to  your  ain  souls, 
and  saying  wi'  Armenians  and  such  like,that  the 
last  minute  o'  the  twelfth  hour  is  enou'  for 


ARCHIE  REN  WICK'S  HEART.  77 

mercy.  They'll  be  aye  speaking  to  you  anent 
the  penitent  thief  on  the  cross.  They'll  say 
mair  than  they  hae  any  call  to  say.  There's 
nae  doubt  i*  my  mind  he  was  penitent  long 
afore  he  met  Christ  on  Calvary.  We  ken 
naething  o'  his  previous  life,  but  he  knew  a* 
aboot  the  life  o'  Christ,  or  he  wouldna  hae  said, 
'He  hath  done  naething  amiss';  and  he  be- 
lieved in  His  Messiahship,  or  he  wouldna  hae 
said,  '  Lord,  remember  me  when  thou  comest 
into  thy  Kingdom  '.  Mind  this  also  :  Christ's 
ain  law  was,  '  Not  every  one  that  saith  Lord, 
Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  Kingdom  o'  Heaven. 
But  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my  Father  who  is  in 
Heaven.'  Weel,  then,  Christ  wouldna  break  his 
ain  law,sae  we  may  be  sure  hekent  a'  aboot  the 
man  hangingat  his  side,  kent  him  to  be  a  doer  o' 
His  will.  Off  the  vera  brow  o'  Calvary  you're 
no  to  be  takin'  a  fause  *iope  to  yoursel's. 

"  I'm  weary,  noo.  Whiles  I  hae  spoke  a  bit 
sharp  to  you,  and  whiles  I  may  hae  been  a  bit 
unjust  wi'  you,  forgie  me  at  this  hour." 

His  voice  had  fallen  to  a  whisper.  He  was 
quite  exhausted,  but  he  feebly  stretched  out 
his  large,  gaunt  hand,  and  they  each  took  it  in 
silence  as  they  left  the  room. 


78  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

He  had  said  more  words  than  he  intended  to 
say,  but  none  of  them  touched  the  hearts  of 
his  servants  as  his  steadfast,  lingering  farewell 
gaze  into  each  of  their  faces  did.  It  had  the 
same  effect  upon  all — it  recalled  in  a  moment 
their  hours  of  labor  together  in  the  fields,  and 
the  threshing-floor,  and  up  the  hills  among  the 
sheep ;  and  it  gave  to  each  of  them  alike  a  ren- 
dezvous upon  the  hills  of  God,  and  beside  the 
still  waters  of  Paradise. 

He  saw  them  no  more.  During  the  next  few 
days  there  was  a  singular  light  upon  his  face, 
the  light  of  the  rising,  not  the  setting  sun,  and 
one  night,  when  only  Faith  was  watching  by 
him,  he  disappeared  into  the  cloud  of  death. 
So  he  was  gathered  to  his  forefathers  in  the 
lonely  yard  on  the  windy  hill-side,  and  Faith  was 
alone  with  her  brother  in  Harribee  Home. 

She  was  in  every  legal  sense  the  inheritor  of 
the  farm  ;  but  her  father's  request  to  Faith  had 
far  more  authority  than  any  legal  right.  She 
regarded  herself  simply  as  administrator  for  her 
brother.  There  had  been  some  slight  improve- 
ment in  Davie's  condition,  and  Matthew  had 
built  some,  perhaps  unreasonable,  hopes,  upon 
it.  Whatever  could  be  done  for  the  boy,  she 


ARCHIE  RENWICK'S  HEART.  79 

had  pledged  herself  to  do  ;  yes,  though  the  last 
acre  of  Harribee  was  sold  for  the  purpose.  All 
was  hers  in  trust  for  Davie's  relief  or  happi- 
ness ;  and  the  trust  appeared  to  her  as  a  simple 
act  of  justice.  Her  whole  soul  accepted  it. 

It  was  in  the  early  summer  Matthew  Harribee 
died,  just  when  the  blossoms  were  falling  off 
the  fruit  trees,  and  the  meadow  grass  was 
growing  long  and  sweet  for  the  mowers.  The 
work  of  the  farm  went  on  with  little  inter- 
ruption. The  servants  were  well  trained,  and 
Faith  had  always  taken  a  very  large  share  In 
the  management  of  the  farm.  The  men  and 
women  came  naturally  to  her  for  advice  and 
direction.  She  was  quiet  and  positive,  and  had 
the  serviceable  art  of  winning  the  confidence 
and  liking  of  those  who  worked  at  her  bidding;.. 

The  house  was  strangely  still,  but  the  dairy- 
life  went  on.  There  was  an  unusually  prosper- 
ous lambing  season,  and  the  haymaking  and 
harvest-time  were  equally  satisfactory.  Faith 
watched  every  thing  without  seeming  to  watch. 
She  was  up  the  hills,  and  in  the  fields  suffi- 
ciently often  to  prevent  eye-service ;  and  the 
dairy  and  the  household  were  as  profitable,  and 
as  spotless,  as  they  had  always  been. 


8o  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

Everywhere  she  went,  Davie  was  with  her. 
To  climb  the  hills  and  wander  among  the 
sheep  and  lambs,  at  her  side,  was  his  delight. 
He  did  not  readily  weary,  and  his  step  was 
lighter  and  more  rapid  than  Faith's.  In  the 
dairy,  and  in  the  garden,  about  the  house  and 
at  the  kirk,  he  was  her  constant  companion — a 
beautiful,  patient,  harmless  boy,  that  every  one 
pitied  and  loved. 

Every  one  but  Archie  Renwick.  In  his 
heart  there  had  long  been  growing  a  wretched 
anger  against  the  child.  He  looked  upon  Faith 
as  his  own,  and  he  resented  her  devotion  to  the 
motherless  boy,  even  when  he  was  a  baby,  to  be 
walked  to  sleep  or  dandled  upon  her  knee.  If 
Faith  were  tired,  or  had  a  headache,  he  counted 
it  a  fault  against  the  child.  If  she  were  too 
busy  to  give  him  all  the  time  and  attention  he 
wanted  he  put  his  own  deprivation  down 
against  the  same  innocent  cause.  He  was 
growing  straitened  in  circumstances,  and  at 
every  fresh  pinch  his  anger  was  greater  at  the 
delay  in  their  marriage. 

For  Faith's  portion  was  in  ready  money,  and 
it  seemed  more  and  more  desirable  to  him. 
During  the  season  preceding  Matthew's  death 


ARCHIE  REN  WICK'S  HEART.  8 1 

he  had  been  urging  her  continually  for  the 
redemption  of  her  promise:  and  Matthew  had 
reluctantly  admitted,  that  "  Davie  might,  may 
be,  manage  atween  Harribee  and  Shepherd's 
Bush."  "  As  for  mysel',"  he  added,  "  I'll  aye 
miss  you,  Faith.  There's  nane  to  fill  your 
place ;  but  I'll  see  you  whiles." 

While  affairs  were  at  this  point,  the  fatal 
accident  occurred.  At  first  Archie's  sympathies 
had  been  keenly  awakened,  but  he  was  essen- 
tially a  selfish  man,  and  he  soon  began  to  find 
Faith's  devotion  to  her  dying  father  and  help- 
less brother  a  very  serious  interference  with  his 
own  pleasure  and  wishes.  When  Davie's  real 
condition  was  made  known  to  him,  he  was 
shocked  at  the  wicked  thoughts  which  came 
spontaneously  into  his  heart.  He  did  not 
reflect  that  years  of  selfish  jealousy  had  already 
conceived  them,  and  that  they  were  ready  to 
spring  into  life  at  the  first  evil  opportunity. 

For  he  had  long  felt  Davie's  existence  to  be 
altogether  unnecessary  and  inconvenient.  In 
a  vague  kind  of  way  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  thinking,  "  if  Faith  had  no  brother."  He 
seldom  cared,  or  dared,  to  follow  out  the 
thought,  bilt  th^  it  rrnuched  in  some  chare- 


•82  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

t>er  of  his  soul,  a  moral  poison,  slowly  perme- 
ating every  kindly  and  honorable  feeling. 

After  Matthew's  death,  the  regret  became  a 
more  tangible  one.  He  found  himself  as  he 
walked  over  the  fells,  counting  the  Harribee 
flocks,  and  wishing,  "  that  puir,  daft  lad  didna 
stand  between  him  and  Faith."  He  said 
Faith,  but  he  meant  the  flocks  and  the  farm. 
When  he  visited  Harribee  Home  and  saw 
Davie  perched  in  the  master's  chair,  he  was 
angry.  As  Faith's  husband  he  would  feel  him- 
self entitled  to  the  seat.  The  attitude  of  the 
servants  was  a  vexation  to  him.  He  fancied  he 
liad  their  jealousy  and  dislike,  and  that  in  his 
presence  they  made  their  attentions  to  Davie 
offensively  prominent.  He  was  even  irritated 
at  Faith  because  she  saw  none  of  these  things, 
and  even  listened  to  such  complaints  as  he 
•ventured  to  make  with  a  decided  lack  of  sym- 
pathy. 

•  One  evening  in  the  early  part  of  the  Septem- 
ber, following  her  father's  death,  Faith  was  in 
the  barleyfield  among  the  reapers.  Archie  had 
promised  to  help  them,  but  he  had  fallen  into 
a  temptation  the  previous  night,  and  lingered 
so  long  over  Hawick  market  dinner  that  he 


ARCHIE  RENWICK'S  HEART.  8$ 

had  been  unable  to  keep  his  word.  His  absence 
had  troubled  Faith,  for  she  divined  the  cause 
of  it.  But  just  when  she  had  accepted  the  dis- 
appointment she  straightened  herself  from  the 
sheaf  she  had  been  binding,  and  looking  over 
the  hills  saw  him  coming. 

In  a  moment  all  her  anger  was  gone ;  and 
Archie  could  not  help  thinking  how  beautiful 
she  looked  among  the  yellow  corn,  with  her 
broad  hat,  and  bare  arms  and  kilted  gown.. 
"  There's  vera  few  men  worthy  o'  her,"  he  mut- 
tered ;  but  among  the  few  he  certainly  put 
himself  first  of  all.  And  in  mere  physical 
beauty  he  was  Faith's  equal.  In  all  the  country- 
side, his  size  and  strength,  his  handsome  ruddy 
face  and  jovial  manner  inclined  women  to  smile 
upon  him.  But  pleasing  as  his  countenance 
was  it  betrayed  a  weak  soul,  and  God  knows 
how  easy  it  is  for  weakness  to  become 
wickedness. 

He  believed  that  he  loved  Faith,  and  per- 
haps in  all  his  best  moments  he  did  love  her. 
He  believed  that  he  had  never  been  a  moment 
influenced  in  his  choice  of  her  by  the  reputed 
ready-money  wealth  of  Matthew  Harribee,  or 
by  the  thought  that  after  Agnes'  flight  there 


84  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

was  only  Faith  and  the  boy  to  divide  all.  As 
for  the  darker  thought  which  haunted  his  soul, 
after  Davie's  accident,  it  was  not  until  this  very 
hour  he  frankly  acknowledged  its  existence  to 
himself. 

Yes,  he  loved  Faith,  though  he  often  felt  her 
moral  and  mental  superiority  to  himself  to  be 
an  irritation  and  an  annoyance.  But  that 
evening  as  he  watched  her  raise  her  stately 
figure  among  the  barley  sheaves,  and  shade  her 
eyes  to  see  his  approach  the  better,  he  was 
very  happy  in  the  sight  of  her  beauty  and  in 
the  knowledge  of  her  love. 

The  pleasant  and  innocent  feeling  lasted  bul 
a  few  moments.  A  small  hand  was  lifted,  and 
Faith  stooped  and  kissed  the  little  fellow  lying 
among  the  loose  grain,  and  when  he  saw  the 
tender  act  he  hated  the  child  as  he  had  nevel 
done  before. 

"  Mair  than  a  thousand  sheep,  moor,  and 
meadows,  and  corn  land,  a  gude  house  and 
garden,  forbye  lying  siller — and  an  idiot 
between  me  and  them!  It's  jist  ridic'lous! 
Faith  will  hae  to  find  her  senses  or  lose  her 
lad  !  That's  a'  aboot  it !  " 

But  he  met  her   smiling  with  outstretched 


ARCHIE  KEN  WICK'S  HEART.  8£- 

hands,  and  Faith,  who  loved  him  with  all  her 
heart,  took  them  with  a  proud  and  gracious- 
gladness.  Then  he  compelled  himself  to  speak 
to  Davie,  but  the  boy  pushed  his  hand  awayr 
and  with  a  low  cry  clung  closer  to  Faith's 
skirt. 

"  He  grows  queer  every  day,  Faith." 

"  You're  a'  wrang  there,  Archie.  Folk  say 
that  he's  a  deal  mair  noticing  than  he  was. 
When  the  harvest  is  o'er  I'm  in  the  mind  to 
tak'  him  to  Edinburgh  or  maybe  to  London 
itsel'.  I  hae  heard  tell  o'  some  wonderfu'  doc- 
tors there." 

"And  they'll  be  charging  wonderfu' prices ; 
you  may  be  sure  o'  that." 

"  Weel,  an'  if  they  do,  Davie  isna  poor.  His 
fayther  left  siller  enough  to  pay  the  best  o' 
doctors." 

The  words  were  not  lost  on  Archie,  but  he 
did  not  think  it  prudent  to  say  any  more  at 
that  time.  And  the  head  man  with  the  loaded 
wagon  came  near,  and  Davie's  delight  was  to 
mount  the  topmost  sheaf  and  hold  the  reins 
while  Sandy  led  the  horses.  So  there  was  a 
little  pleasant  excitement  in  helping  him  to 
climb  to  his  post,  and  in  watching  his  childish 


B6  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 


as  they  started  with  an  hurrah  from 
the  reapers. 

Then  it  was  Archie's  hour.  The  soft  Sep- 
tember gloaming  was  in  itself  an  atmosphere 
of  enchantment.  The  robins  and  thrushes 
were  trying  to  recapture  their  spring  songs, 
though,  alas,  they  had  left  their  best  notes 
Xipon  the  hawthorn  bushes.  Brown  butterflies 
were  displaying  their  velvets  on  the  scarlet 
poppies  ;  there  was  the  ancient,  ancient  music  of 
murmuring  bees  coming  laden  from  the  heather. 
Every  sight  and  sound  was  conducive  to  love, 
and  to  sweet  confidence,  and  to  trusting  hope. 

As  they  walked  slowly  home  from  the  har- 
vest field,  Archie  pleaded  his  own  rights,  and 
Ahe  pleaded  them  well.  Never  had  he  seemed 
-.to  Faith  so  handsome  and  so  sensible.  At  the 
house  door  she  asked  him  in  'to  supper,  and 
while  Phemie  laid  the  table  she  went  to  her 
Toom,  and  came  back  looking  wonderfully 
handsome  in  a  black  gown,  and  a  white  neck- 
erchief and  apron.  Archie's  eyes  expressed 
'his  admiration.  He  went  to  meet  her  with  a 
-Iciss.  Then  he  led  her  to  the  table,  and  he 
took  himself  the  large  chair  which  Matthew 
had  been  wont  to  occupy. 


ARCHIE  REN  WICK'S  HEART.  87 

As  he  was  settling  himself  comfortably  in 
it,  Phemie  entered  the  room  with  the  tea. 
He  had  never  been  a  favorite  with  Phemie, 
and  this  act  roused  in  her  a  deep  anger.  She 
took  Davie's  hand  and  led  him  into  the 
kitchen,  and  she  was  crying  over  the  lad,  when 
she  heard  Faith  asking  for  her  brother. 

"  I  thocht  young  maister  wad  only  be  in  the 
the  way,"  she  answered  sullenly,  and  with  a 
pointed  emphasis  on  the  word  maister. 

"  You  knew  better,  Phemie.  Davie,  come 
wi'  me." 

But  the  child  took  a  stubborn  fit,  and  would 
not  go  back  to  the  house-place.  "  He's  o'er 
much  sense  to  go  ;  he  bides  whar  he's  welcome 
and  wanted/'  said  Phemie;  and  then  there  was 
an  angry  scene,  which  in  the  end  left  Phemie 
triumphant,  and  Faith  tearful  and  trembling. 
It  gave  Archie  the  opportunity  he  had  been 
desiring. 

"  Faith,  my  ain  dear  lassie,"  he  said  ten- 
derly, "  you  have  far  too  much  to  do,  and  to 
bear,  what  wi'  that  crabbit  auld  woman,  and 
that  weary  boy,  no  to  speak  of  a'  the  charges 
anent  the  farm  wark.  It  is  high  time  you  let 
me  lift  the  weight  o'  it.  There's  been  changes 


88  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

that  neither  o'  us  could  foretell  or  prevent,  and 
what  are  we  waiting  for  now,  my  ain  dear  one?" 

"  Fayther  isna  cauld  in  his  grave  yet,  Archie. 
You  ken  I  wouldna  marry  any  way  till  a  full 
year  be  come  and  gane." 

"  Weel,  I  must  be  getting  a'  ready  for  that 
time,  then.  What's  your  pleasure  in  the  mat- 
ter noo,  Faith  ?  The  house  at  Shepherd's 
Bush  isna  much  to  speak  of,  and  it  will  need  a 
deal  o'  siller  and  wark  afore  it  is  fit  for  your 
foot.  For,  oh,  Faith  !  I  love  you  dearly,  lass. 
I  love  you  dearly !  And  I  hae  not  a  thocht  in 
my  heart,  but  to  make  you  happy." 

"  Dinna  spend  labor  and  siller  you  canna 
afford,  Archie." 

"  But  I'm  doin'  weel,  Faith.  I'm  doin'  right 
well ;  though  maybe  now  you  wouldna  care  to 
leave  your  auld  hame.  Harribee  is  a  bonnie 
and  a  comfortable  place,  and  you  would  hae  to 
rent  it  to  strangers,  and  if  you  lighted  on  an 
ill-tenant,  that  would  be  waur  than  nae  tenant 
at  a'.  Sae  you  see,  there's  much  to  talk  of, 
and  to  settle  for;  and  above  all,  there's  this 
charge  o'  the  boy  and  the  farm — they  are  too 
much  for  you  !  " 

Faith  was  a  clear-headed  woman,  if  she  was 


ARCHIE  REN  WICK'S  HEART.  89 

in  love.  She  understood  quite  well  all  that 
was  meant  and  included  in  Archie's  words.  It 
was  a  virtual  proposal,  that  after  her  year's 
mourning  was  over,  she  should  marry  her  lover, 
bring  him  to  Harribee,  and  make  him  its  real 
master.  In  some  respects  the  proposal  met 
her  desire.  She  did  not  wish  to  leave  her  old 
home,  and  she  was  very  averse,  indeed,  to 
remove  Davie  from  it.  Its  walls  not  only  gave 
him  the  shelter  most  natural,  but  also  insen- 
sibly procured  for  him  a  certain  amount  of 
respect  from  the  servants  of  the  place,  as  its 
owner.  She  was  determined,  then,  that  if 
Archie  came  to  Harribee,  he  should  do  so  with 
the  clearest  understanding  of  the  terms  upon 
which  his  nominal  authority  rested. 

So  she  answered  steadily :  "  The  lad  never 
wearies  me.  As  for  the  farm,  I  hae  the  vera 
best  o'  trained  servants.  Phemie  is  auld  and  a 
bit  wilfu',  but  truth  and  worth  hae  grown  wi' 
her,  and  I  wouldna  ken  my  ain  life  wanting  her. 
When  it  is  right  for  me  to  marry,  I'll  keep  my 
troth  wi'  you,  and  I  dinna  think  badly  o'  your 
coming  to  Harribee — if  Davie  is  willing.  For 
you  ken,  the  house  is  Davie's,  and  I  am  only 
here  as  his  guardian  and  trustee." 


90  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"  That  is  fair  nonsense,  dearie.  Davie  is  ju.st 
an  incapable.  The  law  would  pass  him  by  wi' 
a  maintenance ;  and  the  house,  and  farm,  and 
plenishing,  and  stock  are  a'  your  ain." 

"  Not  a  rap  in  the  house !  Not  a  foot  o' 
land  !  Not  a  lamb  on  the  hills !  Naething  is 
mine ! "  said  Faith,  positively.  "  And  if  my 
life  were  needfu'  to  Davie,  my  life  isna  my  ain, 
either.  There  are  twa  blessed  souls  in  heaven 
that  hae  my  promise  for  that  much.  Archie, 
my  dear,  dear  lad,  you  surely  willna  be  the  ane 
to  ask  me  to  break  it ! " 

"  No,  I'll  ne'er  ask  you  to  break  it ;  but 
Faith,"  and  he  spoke  almost  angrily,  "  it  is  a* 
nonsense !  Davie  will  ne'er  be  any  thing  but 
an  innocent,  and  I  dinna  like  to  stand  second 
to  him." 

"You  stand  in  your  ain  place  first,  and  alane. 
I  never  had  a  lover  before  you,  I  shall  never 
hae  any  after  you.  But  Davie  I  took  frae  my 
dying  mother's  breast  wi'  a  solemn  charge,  and 
frae  my  dying  fayther's  hand  wi'  a  solemn 
promise.  That  charge,  and  that  promise  I  will 
break  for  nane  living.  If  you  can  share  it  wi' 
me,  if  you  can  help  me  to  keep  it,  I'll  be  a 
happy  woman,  and  a  faithful  wife  to  you.  If 


ARCHIE  REN  WICK'S  HEART.  91 

that  is  na  in  your  mind,  the  sooner  we  each 
gae  our  ain  way  and  the  better  it  will  be  in  the 
end  I'm  thinking." 

But  Archie  at  the  sight  of  her  grand  resolute 
face  became  his  best  self.  "  I'll  do  a'  you  ask 
o'  me,  Faith,"  he  said.  "  There  is  naething  I 
willna  do  to  pleasure  you.  There  is  nane  I 
willna  love  tor  your  sake." 

And  their  talk  was  so  sweet,  so  full  of 
confidence  and  of  good  resolves,  that  Archie 
really  thought  no  man  had  ever  been  so  happy 
as  he  was,  when  Faith  stood  at  the  gate  with 
him  saying  a  loving  lingering  good-by,  in  the 
light  of  the  splendid  harvest-moon. 

Phemie  was  locking  up  the  presses  and  doors 
of  the  house  when  she  returned  to  it ;  and  Faith 
was  pained  by  her  silent,  sorrowful  manner. 
"  There  is  to  be  neither  secrets,  nor  ill-will 
between  you  and  me,  Phemie,  and  sae  sit  down, 
and  listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  Archie  and 
I  hae  settled  on." 

Phemie  listened,  but  with  a  grim  and  unbe, 
lieving  face.  "Sae  he  is  coming  here?"  she 
asked. 

"  It  is  the    best  for  a'.     He  is  doing   right 


92  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

weel,  he  says,  but  what  need  to  spend  siller 
furnishing  anither  hame  ?  " 

"Him,  doin'  weel!"  she  cried  scornfully. 
"  Him  doin'  weel !  He  is  always  at  a  loose  end  ! 
He  is  the  maist  careless  shepherd  on  the  fells  ! 
He  could  mak'  his  will  on  his  thumb  nail  if  he 
died  to-night ;  and  his  gude  sense  would  be 
dear  at  a  groat !  And  I'll  tell  you  the  truth  for 
once  aboot  Archie  Renwick — he's  mair  aften 
in  the  change-house  than  in  any  ither  place ; 
singing,  and  laughing,  and  drinking,  and  quar- 
reling, and  never  quiet  till  he  is  lying  under  a 
table,  or  in  a  hedge-bottom.  Him  doin'  weel ! 
Ridic'lous  !  Parfectly  ridic'lous  !  " 

"  You  hae  ta'en  an  ill-will  at  Archie,  Phemie  ; 
and  there  is  nae  use  heeding  you.  But  an  auld 
woman  like  you  should  hae  some  charity,  and 
scorn  to  let  her  tongue  serve  the  clash  and 
clatter  o'  the  country-side." 

"  Hear-you-but !  Clash  and  clatter  !  Deed 
ma'am,  my  tongue  is  my  ain,  and  I'm  too  auld 
to  mak'  it  call  black  white ;  and  evil  gude. 
But  I  hae  warned  you,  though  I  ken  weel  you'll 
tak'  your  ain  way  whatever  road  it  leads  you. 
I  see  that  fine  !  Sae,  if  you  hae  made  up  your 
mind  to  hae  his  love,  and  sup  sorrow  wi'  it, 


ARCHIE  RENWICK'S   HEART.  93 

heed  but  ane  word  I  say — keep  the  staff  in  your 
ain  hand,  dinna  let  him  hae  power  o'er  the 
vallidom  o'  a  thimble." 

And  Faith,  sad  and  sighing,  went  up-stairs 
without  further  argument.  The  human  heart 
flies  from  renunication,  and  this  night,  atj  least, 
she  was  thoroughly  tired  with  her  share  of 
earth's  unrest.  But  the  sea  is  not  fuller  of 
water,  than  the  heart  of  a  loving  woman  of 
hope,  long-suffering,  trust  and  forgiveness. 
What  infinite  treasures  must  love  possess,  to 
squander  them  so  continually  and  so  lavishly 
upon  the  unworthy ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 
LORD  GRAEME'S  LOVE. 

se  Love  gives  esteem  and  then  he  gives  desert  ; 
He  either  finds  equality  or  makes  it  ; 
Like  death  he  knows  no  difference  in  degrees, 
But  plains  and  levels  all . "  — DRYDEN. 

"All  love  is  sweet, 

Given  or  returned.     Common  as  light  is  love 
And  its  familiar  voice  wearies  not  ever." 

ONE  evening  about  a  week  after  this  event 
Faith  was  compelled  to  go  to  Mosskirtle. 
She  did  not  take  Davie  with  her.  There  had 
been  several  days  of  heavy  rain,  and  the  night- 
fall promised  to  be  chill  and  misty.  Some 
sudden  domestic  necessity  had  induced  the 
walk,  and  she  had  had  no  opportunity  of  send- 
ing Archie  word.  But  she  was  almost  certain 
to  meet  him  in  the  village,  and  with  this  con- 
viction in  her  heart,  she  began  her  walk. 

Arrived  at  Mosskirtle  she  made  the  few  pur- 
chases she  needed  at  the  village  shop,  and  then 


LORD   GRAEME'S  LOVE.  95 

turned  homeward  again,  a  little  depressed. 
She  had  seen  nothing  of  her  lover  but  as  she 
passed  the  change-house,  a  man  standing  at  the 
door  went  in,  and  she  had  the  conviction,  that 
he  knew  Archie  was  there,  and  had  gone  to  tell 
him  of  her  presence  in  the  village.  She  walked 
a  little  slower,  hoping  that  her  lover  would 
overtake  her,  but  after  going  a  few  hundred 
yards  she  still  found  herself  alone.  The  road 
both  before  and  behind  her  was  enveloped  in 
mist,  chilly,  damp  and  depressing.  It  had 
driven  the  very  children  from  their  play  in  the 
streets,  and  she  suddenly  pulled  her  plaid  closer 
around  her  breast  and  began  to  hurry  her 
footsteps. 

Her  heart  was  heavy  and  pained.  It  was 
useless  to  reason  with  and  tell  it  that  she  had 
not  one  particle  of  any  kind  of  proof  that 
Archie  was  in  the  change-house,  and  knew 
that  she  was  walking  home  in  the  fast  gather- 
ing shadows  alone.  A  woman  is  more  influ- 
enced by  what  she  divines  than  by  what  she  is 
told.  Faith  knew  he  was  in  the  change-house, 
knew  that  he  was  aware  she  had  just  passed  it. 
What  she  was  uncertain  about  was  her  lover's 
motive  for  neglecting  her.  Perhaps  he  had 


96  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

taken  a  glass  too  much;  was  "a  little  fresh," 
and  rather  ashamed  of  the  condition ;  or  per. 
haps  he  had  been  twitted  about  his  attentions 
to  her  ;  and — she  did  not  like  to  think  it;  and 
yet,  such  a  vain  man  as  Renwick  might  be 
annoyed  by  the  banter. 

She  was  quick-witted  enough  to  fancy  the 
bent  of  the  conversation  that  had  made  him 
show  the  silly  chaps  around  him  that  he  was 
his  ain  master,  and  not  bound  to  run  after  any 
woman.  Tom  Ogle  would  be  saying,  "  steady 
yoursel',  Archie  Renwick !  There  is  Faith 
Harribee  passing,  and  if  ye  dinna  rin  after  her 
you'll  be  missing  her  bit  o'  siller."  And  Dick 
of  Linton  would  add,  "  Rin,  man  !  rin !  or  you'll 
ne'er  come  into  the  charge  o'  Harribee."  And 
if  Tom  of  Out-by  was  within  hearing  he  would 
remember  the  sharp  words  said  to  him  last 
week  about  driving  sheep  too  long  adrift,  and 
he'd  be  sure  to  growl  out  wi'  a  sneer,  "  Run 
awa',  Archie!  If  you  dinna  lackey  my  lady 
you'll  be  in  for  a  whiff-whaff  o'  her  sharp 
temper.  I  can  tell  you  a'  she  gave  me  a  reg'lar 
sisserara  not  a  week  gone  by,  for  being  a  wee 
bit  hurrysome  with  the  young  sheep." 

Oh,  she  knew  it  all,  as  well  as  if  she  had 


LORD   GRAEME'S  LOVE.  97 

heard  every  little  jeering  word  and  laugh,  and 
she  understood  Archie's  false  shame  and 
affected  independence.  If  he  should  deny 
every  word  of  her  suspicion,  she  felt  that  it 
would  be  very  hard  to  put  away  her  own  con- 
victions, and  believe  him.  Occupied  with  such 
thoughts  she  did  not  perceive  that  she  had 
taken  the  shortest  way  home,  the  way  that  led 
her  across  the  moss.  During  the  summer 
months  it  was  her  usual  route,  but  after  the 
last  week's  rains  its  safety  was  a  very  serious 
question. 

She  stood  a  moment  to  consider  herself. 
The  misty  evening  gloom  had  stolen  over  all 
the  landscape.  It  was  a  lonely,  mournful  scene, 
and  its  silence  smote  sadly  upon  her  heart.  But 
as  she  turned  her  face  to  Harribee,  the  lights  of 
the  farm-house  twinkled  suddenly  through  the 
foggy  shadows.  The  road  she  was  on  was  the 
nearest  road  to  its  homely  comfort.  To  take 
the  safer  one  she  would  have  to  go  back  at 
least  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  After  a  moment's 
pause  she  went  boldly  forward. 

"  Faith !  Faith  Harribee  !  Turn  back !  For 
your  life,  turn  back!  Do  not  stop  to  think! 
Turn  at  once." 


98  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

The  words  were  hoarse  and  passionate,  and 
cut  the  thick  air  like  a  voice  of  fate.  They 
were  uttered  in  a  shout  full  of  the  agony  of 
fatal  apprehension  and  of  mortal  terror ,  and 
Faith,  trembling  and  sick  at  heart,  glanced  at 
her  feet.  Rapid  as  thought  she  perceived  her 
danger.  The  ground  was  quaking  and  settling 
beneath  her.  To  stand  still  was  to  be  buried 
alive.  Quick  as  a  flash  of  light  she  turned,  and 
with  difficulty  lifting  her  feet,  leaped  from  tus- 
sock to  tussock  of  peat  with  the  same  rapidity 
and  power  which  had  once  before  carried  her 
safely  along  Johnston's  Scaur  in  the  terror  of 
that  fatal  snow-storm.  All  the  time,  the  same 
voice  was  urging  and  hurrying  her,  and  when 
at  length  she  stood  panting  and  trembling  on 
the  solid  stony  road,  a  hand  grasped  her 
shoulder  tightly,  and  a  man  said  in  tones 
equally  blent  in  love  and  anger : 

"  Oh,  Faith  !  Faith  !  A  woman  like  you  to 
be  such  a  fool !  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself !  Oh,  Faith,  if  I  had  seen  you  sink 
into  the  moss!  You  have  made  me  sick  with 
terror,  woman ! " 

His  voice  had  a  sob  in  it.  He  seemed  almost 
as  much  overcome  as  Faith,  and  she  was  blind 


LORD  GRAEME'S  LOVE.  99 

and  tottering,  and  on  the  very  verge  of  losing 
consciousness.  They  stood  together ;  he  had 
passed  his  arm  around  her,  and  drawn  her 
tightly  to  his  side,  and  for  some  moments  she 
was  only  aware  of  needed  support,  and  quite 
unable  to  resist  that  which  was  offered  her. 

But  very  quickly  she  recovered  herself,  and 
her  first  movement  was  to  look  at  her  compan- 
ion. In  the  dim  light  his  eyes  glowed  and 
shone  like  stars,  and  pain  and  joy  struggled  on 
his  countenance.  With  burning  cheeks  she 
withdrew  herself  from  his  embrace. 

"  Lord  Graeme,  you  hae  saved  my  life.  I 
thank  you  baith  for  mysel'  and  for  the  laddie 
that  is  dearer  than  life  to  me." 

"  Confusion,  Faith  J  Do  you  think  I  saved 
you  for  Renwick?  I  saved  you  for  myself. 
You  belong  to  me  now,  Faith." 

"  You  mistake  me.  I  was  meaning  my  puir 
wee  brother  Davie." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,  Faith.  Yet  the  fools 
around  here  say  you  are  going  to  marry  Ren- 
wick.  I  thought  better  of  you  than  to  believe 
it — a  wild,  drunken,  loose-at-end,  go-down-hill, 
afternoon-farmer." 

"I   am  going  to  marry    Renwick.  lord,  sae 


100  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

dinna  miscall  him  to  me.  I'm  no  caring  to  list, 
en  to  you,  and  I  must  be  hurrying  hame. 
Davie  will  be  needing  me.  But  I'm  vera  grate- 
ful to  you.  You  were  God's  messenger  to  me. 
I'll  ne'er  forget  this  hour." 

"  Stay,  Faith,  you  shall  not  go  yet,  unless  I 
may  walk  with  you.  If  I  am  God's  messenger 
to-night,  you  must  listen  to  me.  I  want  you. 
I  want  you  for  my  wife.  You  can  make  a  good 
man  of  me.  Upon  my  soul,  I  will  be  a  good 
husband  to  you.  Come  like  an  angel  to  castle 
Graeme  and  bring  a  nobler  life  with  you.  I 
know  I  have  been  an  ill  man ;  but  I'll  be  a  good 
man,  if  you  will  help  me." 

"  There's  nane  but  God  can  help  you  to  turn 
an  ill  life  into  a  gude  life.  Nane  but  God, 
Graeme.  I  canna  be  your  wife.  It  would  be  a 
wrong  all  around — a  wrong  to  you  and  to  your 
sister;  a  wrong  to  mysel'  and  to  my  wee 
brother  ;  a  wrong  to  Renwick  for  I  hae  given 
him  my  troth-word  and  I  love  him,  and  dinna 
love  you." 

"You  do  love  me,  Faith ;  I  know  you  do. 
My  soul  knows  your  soul.  Whether  you  be- 
lieve me  or  not,  you  are  mine." 

"  Graeme,    Graeme,    dinna    say    such    awfu* 


LORD   GRAEME'S  LOVE.  IO1 

words.  I  love  God.  Hoo  then  can  I  love 
you  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  tell  that  God  does  not  love 
me  ?  " 

"You  said  yoursel"  that  you  were  an  ill  man. 
I  was  wrang  to  judge  you  anyway.  Forgie  me, 
and  let  me  take  the  hame  road." 

"  Let  me  walk  with  you." 

"  Na,  na !     Folks  will  say  wrang  o'  me." 

"  It  is  dark  now." 

"All  the  waur.  What  I  wouldna  do  at  the 
noon  hour,  I  wouldna  do  at  the  dark  hour." 

"  Then  stand  here  until  I  have  had  my  say. 
If  you  will  not  be  my  wife,  at  least  let  me  warn 
you  against  Renwick.  He  is  as  bad  a  man  as  I 
am — in  a  ruder  way.  He  has  wasted  all  the 
money  his  decent  father  left  him.  He  is  mar- 
rying you  in  the  hopes  of  controlling  the  Har- 
ribee  property." 

"  I  canna  credit  what  you  say,  lord.  Some  ane 
has  told  you  lies.  Every  body  is  against  Archie. 
The  mair  reason  I  should  stand  by  him." 

"  Faith,  I  hold  a  bond  over  every  thing  he 
once  possessed.  When  I  choose  to  draw  it 
tight,  he  will  walk  out  of  Shepherd's  Bush 
poorer  than  he  will  be  on  his  death-day." 


102  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"Maybe,  lord,  he'll  be  richer  than  mortal 
man  can  count  on  his  death-day.  He  comes  o' 
pious  folk,  and  I  hae  that  hope  for  him." 

"  God-a-mercy,  woman !  Cannot  you  see  that 
you  are  going  to  wed  sorrow,  and  shame,  and 
poverty  ?  Oh,  Faith !  listen  to  me !  I  love 
you.  Renwick  loves  himself — himself  only.  If 
you  will  marry  me,  then  we  will  take  that  poor 
little  brother  of  yours  to  the  best  doctors  in 
all  the  world.  In  London,  Paris  and  Vienna 
there  are  men  whose  wonderful  skill  can  be 
bought  for  money.  I  will  not  spare  gold.  If 
it  be  possible,  he  shall  have  his  full  senses  back 
again." 

"  If  God  will.  But  I  thank  you  mair  for 
what  you  hae  said,  than  for  my  ain  life.  Maybe 
if  I  hadna  had  the  wherewith  your  words  would 
hae  been  a  sair  temptation  to  me ;  but  God  be 
thankit,  Davie's  fayther  left  lying  siller,  and 
plenty  o'  it,  to  pay  doctors — and  I  hae  a  bit 
siller  mysel'  if  it  also  were  needed." 

"  You  will  not  have  siller  long  if  you  marry 
Renwick,  Faith,  think  of  what  a  pleasure  it 
would  be  to  the  child  to  travel  all  over  the 
world.  If  any  thing  can  quicken  his  numb 
faculties,  it  is  travel  and  change." 


LORD  GRAEME'S  LOVE.  103 

"  Oh  Graeme  !  Dinna  tempt  me  to  do  wrang 
that  gude  may  come.  It  never  comes  that 
gate  to  be  worth  any  thing.  God  bless  you, 
lord,  for  what  you  hae  done  and  offered  this 
night,  but  you  mustna  hinder  me  langer  now." 

"And  you  are  determined  to  marry  Ren- 
wick?  " 

"  I  hae  said  sae." 

"  Then  you  will  marry  a  beggar.  Not  another 
hour  of  mercy  will  I  give  him.  Any  ill  deed 
that  I  can  do  to  him,  you  may  be  sure  it  will 
pleasure  me  to  do." 

"  Forewarned  is  forearmed,  lord.  You  arena 
God  Almighty,  and  you  can  but  gae  as  far  as 
you  are  let  gae." 

"  Once  more,  Faith !  dear  Faith  !  sweet  Faith ! 
Once  more  I  entreat  you  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Gude  night,  Lord  Graeme.  I  must  take  my 
ane  way,  and  you  canna  walk  with  me  in  it.  You 
would  hae  to  be  born  again  afore  we  two  could 
be  weel  matched.  Gude-night,  lord." 

"  Remember,  Faith,  that  I  have  saved  your 
life.  I  have  a  claim  on  you  that  no  other 
human  being  has  ;  besides,  I  love  you,  Faith." 

He  said  the  words  slowly,  and  with  a  soft, 
tender  intonation  that  moved  her  more  than  she 


104  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

would  acknowledge,  and  all  the  way  home  she 
was  in  a  condition  full  of  a  strange  turmoil, 
troubled,  and  angry,  and  fearful,  and  yet  deeply 
grateful  to  God,  and  not  insensible  to  the  un- 
mistakable affection  of  her  preserver. 

Phemie  had  become  very  anxious  about  her. 
"I  was  feared  for  the  moss,"  she  explained. 
"You  hae  crossed  it  a  few  times  this  summer, 
and  I  misdoubted  you  wad  be  trying  it  again." 

"  Had  it  not  been  for  Lord  Graeme  I  had 
been  smoored  in  it  this  vera  hour.  Summer  or 
winter,  I'll  cross  it  nae  mair."  Then  she  told 
Phemie  the  whole  circumstance,  and  Phemie 
listened  without  a  comment. 

"  You  are  wet-shod,  Faith.  If  you  dinna 
want  to  get  your  death  frae  the  moss,  ane  way 
or  tither,  change  your  stockings  and  shoon, 
and  I'll  mak'  you  a  cup  o'  tea  and  toast  you  a 
jannock." 

"Where  is  Davie?" 

"  Whar  he  ought  to  be ;  in  his  bed  and  fast 
asleep." 

As  she  was  drinking  her  tea,  Phemie  said  : 
"  I  thocht  you  reckoned  on  Renwick  coming 
hame  wi'  you  ?  " 

"  I  ne'er  saw  him." 


LORD  GRAEME'S  LOVE.  105 

"  Ay." 

Then  there  was  a  long  pause,  and  Faith 
sipped  her  tea  and  Phemie  knit  her  stocking. 
Only  the  tick,  tick,  of  the  clock  broke  the 
silence.  But  Phemie  saw  that  Faith's  hands 
trembled,  and  that  she  was  unusually  flushed 
and  excited.  She  did  not  press,  however,  for 
her  confidence,  and  Faith,  probably  because  she 
was  not  asked,  very  soon  told  all  that  Lord 
Graeme  had  said  to  her. 

Phemie  was  not  astonished.  She  had  been 
long  aware  of  Graeme's  affection,  and  she  an- 
swered:  "Ay,  you  might  be  sure  he  wad 
speak  up  for  himsel'  wi'  such  a  gude  oppor- 
tunity to  help  him.  Howe'er,  when  a  woman 
has  the  offer  o'  two  bad  husbands,  she  ought 
at  least  to  tak'  the  best  o'  the  twa,  and  I'm  no 
sure  but  the  best  is  Graeme." 

"  If  you  had  an  opinion  about  Archie, 
Phemie,  I  would  try  to  convince  you  how  un- 
just you  are.  But  you  are  just  prejudiced,  and 
wha  can  conquer  a  prejudice  ?  I'll  no  try  to  do 
it  any  mair.  I  dinna  believe  I  am  deceived  in 
Archie.  If  I  thocht  I  was,  I  should  be  miserable." 

"  Not  you.  It  isna  being  deceived  that 
troubles  a  woman  i'  love  ;  it  is  being  undeceived. 


106  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

That's  what  mak's  her  miserable.  But  hold 
your  ain  a  wee,  Faith  ;  you  are  a  wise  lass,  and 
if  at  the  lang  end  sorrow  comes  to  you,  there's 
aye  one  gude  thing  to  think  o' — great  trials 
teach  us  great  lessons." 

"  I  dinna  set  much  by  such  comfort  as  that, 
Phemie,  Oh,  woman  !  you  are  but  a  Job's  com- 
forter. You  might  whiles  hae  a  cheery  word 
to  say  to  an  axious  troubled  heart." 

"  Weel,  then,  Faith,  I'll  gie  you  a  few  o'  your 
auld  fayther's  words,  and  whether  your  lover 
be  gude  or  bad,  you  may  lippen  to  them — 
'  turn  your  face  to  God,  and  you  have  found 
the  sunny  side  of  life/" 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  Lord 
Graeme  was  talking  to  his  sister  on  the  same 
subject.  The  adventure  of  the  evening  had 
moved  him  even  more  than  it  had  moved 
Faith.  He  went  home  full  of  a  new  project ; 
one  which  had  sprung  naturally  from  Faith's 
assertion  that  their  marriage  would  be  a  wrong 
both  to  himself  and  to  Miss  Graeme.  He  was 
confident  that  Faith  was  afraid  of  his  sister ; 
awed  by  her  position,  her  domineering  manner, 
even  by  her  beauty,  and  the  devotion  of  her 
life  to  himself. 


LORD   GRAEME'S  LOVE.  107 

Then  he  must  induce  Terres  to  go  and  plead 
his  cause.  The  plan  at  first  thought  seemed  to 
him  an  impossible  one,  but  it  is  the  impossible 
in  our  lives  which  is  most  likely  to  occur,  and 
the  more  Lord  Graeme  thought  of  the  feelings 
likely  to  exist  between  his  sister  and  his  love, 
the  more  sure  he  was  that  only  Terres  could 
remove  the  secret  obstacles  in  Faith's  mind. 

When  he  reached  the  castle  it  was  quite  dark 
outside,  but  several  of  the  rooms  were  full  of 
light,  and  in  one  of  them  Terres  sat  at  the 
piano,  singing.  For  several  years  she  had  very 
rarely  played,  and  it  seemed  to  Lord  Graeme 
that  it  was  half  a  life-time  since  he  had  heard 
her  singing.  A  woesome  little  ballad  it  was 
that  now  broke  the  silence — the  "  good-night "  of 
one  of  her  own  ancestors  flying  for  life  into 
exile,  in  order  to  avoid  the  punishment  of  his 
bloody  passionate  hatred — a  ballad  steeped  in 
evil  and  sorrowful  memories,  and  yet  he  could 
not  choose  but  stand  and  listen  to  the  verse  she 
was  rendering,  so  charmful  were  the  weird  notes 
of  masterful  affection  and  threat  - 

"  Then  he  took  off  a  gay  gold  nng, 

Whereat  hung  signets  three, 
Here  talc'  thee  that  my  ain  dear  thing 
And  still  hae  mind  o'  me. 


108  A    BORDER   SHEPERDESS. 

But  if  thou  choose  another  lord 

Ere  I  come  owre  the  sea, 
His  life  has  but  a  three  days  lease 

Though  I  may  not  stay  with  thee." 

"Terres,  why  do  you  sing  such  an  unlucky 
ditty?  Nobody  but  a  Scot  will  date  from  a 
misfortune,  or  sing  of  sorrow.  There  are  plenty 
of  happier  songs." 

"  I  like  this  song.  It  blends  with  things  in 
my  own  soul  that  I  can  interpret  in  no  other 
way." 

"  But  why  to-night  ?  " 

"  Because  to-night  I  met  Will  Forster." 

Lord  Graeme's  first  thought  was  a  scornful 
and  angry  one,  and  the  answer  upon  his  lips 
was  to  express  this  thought.  But  the  memory 
of  Faith  restrained  it.  If  he  desired  his  sister's 
sympathy,  he  would  be  both  wise  and  kind  to 
give  what  he  asked.  So  he  restrained  the  unkind 
words,  and  inquired  with  a  gloomy  curiosity 
and  interest  concerning  the  meeting.  "  I  went 
riding,  early  this  evening.  In  the  little  wood 
that  skirts  the  moss,  there  is,  you  know,  only  a 
very  narrow  bridle  path.  The  spot  was  a 
favorite  rendezvous  for  Will  and  me  in  the  old 
days  ;  I  am  still  foolish  enough  to  like  to  visit 
it.  I  was  thinking  of  Will,  and  all  at  once  I  saw 


LORD   GRAEME'S  LOVE.  109 

him  in  the  path.  He  stood  aside  to  let  me  pass, 
and  as  our  eyes  met,  I  said  '  Will/  Then  he 
lifted  his  hat  and  passed  on  without  a  word. 
Passed  on  without  a  word,  Tilbert.  I  thought 
I  should  fall  from  my  horse.  I  turned  sick.  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  going  blind.  But  I  forced  my  soul  to 
bear  it  all.  I  said  to  it,  '  Don't  be  a  coward  ! 
A  mean  coward,  and  sneak  away  into  oblivion! 
Whatever  is  to  bear,  bear  it.'  Then  I  was  at 
the  gate  and  Gill  rode  forward  and  opened  it, 
and  I  said  to  him  with  as  little  concern  as  I 
could  affect,  '^Who  is  the  gentleman  we 
passed  ?"  and  he  answered,  'Lord  Seaton.'  " 

"  Then  Forster  has  come  to  the  title  !  Who 
could  have  supposed  that  possible?" 

"  He  was  related  to  the  Seatons.  Of  course 
he  concluded  that  I  was  now  anxious  to  con- 
ciliate him.  No  wonder  he  snubbed  my 
advance.  Oh,  Tilbert,  I  feel  so  bitterly 
ashamed." 

"  I  will  call  upon  Lord  Seaton.  I  will  take 
all  the  blame.  It  was  my  fault,  Terres." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  Not  to  save  my  life  should 
you  make  a  shadow  of  concession  now.  That 
would  be  too  humiliating." 

"  The  humiliation  would  be  mine." 


no  A   BORDER  SHEPERDESS. 

"  Oh  Tilbert  you  look  at  every  thing  as  it 
affects  you  personally  !  Can  not  you  understand 
how  I  feel  without  my  putting  my  feelings  into 
words  ?  And  how  can  you  offer  courtesy  to 
Lord  Seaton  you  refused  to  Captain  Forster  ? 
It  was  so  unfortunate !  So  unfortunate  I  spoke 
to  him  !  I  shall  never  forgive  myself !  " 

"  We  are  an  unfortunate  house  about  love 
matters." 

She  rose  wearily  and  said,  "  That  is  an  old 
story.  Come,  let  us  have  tea.  I  have  been 
waiting  for  you." 

He  gave  her  his  arm  and  they  went  into  a 
small  parlor  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall,  a 
pretty  room  curtained  and  upholstered  in  rose- 
colored  brocade  and  lighted  by  hanging  lamps 
under  pink  shades.  The  brilliant  color  was  a  re- 
markable background  for  both  brother  and  sis- 
ter, and  their  pale  faces  and  black  shining  eyes, 
their  rich  silk  and  fine  broadcloth,  made  telling 
contrasts  with  it ;  to  which  the  blazing  fire,  gay 
china,  and  bright  silver  added  picturesque 
gleams  of  shifting  color. 

Lord  Greame  did  not  immediately  introduce 
his  own  love  trouble.  He  thought  it  best  to 
let  Terres  "  talk  out  "  the  unusual  event  that 


LORD   GRAEME'S  LOVE.  HI 

had  happened  to  her.  But  when  this  was  done, 
and  the  meal  finished,  and  the  room  quite  quiet, 
he  roused  her  from  the  reverie  in  which  she  sat 
by  remarking : 

"  It  must  be  a  fate  night  with  the  Graemes. 
I  also  have  had  an  adventure.  Faith  Harribee 
would  be  dead  and  buried  at  this  moment  but 
for  me.  She  was  on  the  quaking  moss,  and  I 
saved  her.  That  is  a  claim  she  can  not  deny." 

Terres  did  not  answer  the  remark,  but  reclin- 
ing in  her  chair,  she  watched  her  brother's  face 
with  a  very  unusual  interest.  Something  in  her 
own  heart  made  her  in  that  hour  understand  the 
longing  and  the  suffering  in  his  heart.  And  this 
unexpected  tolerance  was  aided  by  several  con- 
siderations inclining  her  toward  a  calm  discus- 
sion, at  least,  of  his  hopes  and  wishes.  He  had 
given  her  attention  and  sympathy,  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  refuse  him  an  equal  courtesy.  And  there 
could  be  no  better  way  of  convincing  Lord 
Seaton  that  station  and  wealth  were  not  "  the 
all  and  the  wherefore  "  of  her  conduct,  than  by 
heartily  endorsing  her  brother's  humble  choice. 
So,  as  these  thoughts  flashed  through  her  mind, 
she  remained  silent,  but  not  aggressively  silent. 

Indeed,  there   was   so    much   of   reasonable 


H2  A   BORDER   SHEPERDESS. 

interest  in  her  face  that  Graeme  rose  eagerly  to 
his  feet,  and  standing  before  her  asked,  "  Is  it 
possible  you  are  going  to  help  me,  Terres  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  what  strange  misfortune  has 
always  clung  to  the  loves  of  our  house.  Sup- 
pose we  try  and  make  one  true  love  run  straight 
to  a  happy  consummation.  If  it  were  possible 
we  might  break  the  evil  spell.  '  111  fortune 
slips  awa'  when  love  smiles'  is  an  old  saying, 
but  yet — " 

"  Nay,  do  not  qualify  your  kindness  with  a 
*  but.'  Promise  me  to  go  and  see  Faith." 

"  If  you  wish  it,  I  will  go." 

"  And  when  ?  To-morrow  ?  Go  to-morrow, 
Terres." 

"  I  will  go  to-morrow — in  the  morning." 

"  My  good  sister !  And  if  there  is  any  word 
to  be  said,  any  thing  a  man  may  do,  to  be  done 
about  Seaton — " 

"  If  you  meet  him,  give  him  his  own  courtesy 
. — the  lifted  hat  and  silence.  I  shall  never  for- 
give you  if  you  take  one  step  toward  him." 

"  He  may  still  love  you." 

"  Less  love  than  the  old  love  I  would  never 
accept.  The  old  love  would  have  held  my 
bridle,  and  found  some  words  to  say  for  itself. 


LORD   GRAEMES  LOVE.  113 

I  am  not  the  same  Terres  Graeme  to  Will,  and 
when  a  woman  is  not  the  same  to  her  lover,  she 
may  as  well  be  the  most  indifferent  of  women 
to  him.  My  past  is  slain  beyond  healing  or  re- 
covery  ;  there  may  perhaps  be  something  done 
to  make  your  future  happy.  And  after  all,  who 
is  so  dear  to  me  as  you  are,  Tilbert?  And  why 
should  you  not  have  the  wife  you  want  ?  The 
Graeme  ennobles  any  one  he  marries.  And  she 
stood  up  beside  her  brother,  looking  into  his 
face  with  shining  eyes  ;  while  he  drew  her  with- 
in his  arm,  and  answered. 

"  I  have  you  always,  Terres.  I  have  the  best 
sister  in  the  world.  If  any  one  else  fails  me,  I 
have  TerreSo" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TERRES  AND   FAITH. 

"Eighty  years  hence  it  will  matter  little  whether  we  were  a 
peasant  or  a  peer,  but  it  will  matter  much,  whether  we  did  our 
duty  as  one  or  the  other."— STOPFORD  BROOKE. 

"  Time,  the  shuttle  drives,  but  you 
Give  to  every  thread  its  hue 
And   elect  your  destiny,"  — BURLEIGH. 

THE  next  morning  was  clear  and  frosty,  and 
Terres  Graeme  prepared  for  her  visit  by  a 
long  solitary  walk  over  Dead-for-cold  hill.  She 
was  on  its  bushless  track  absolutely  alone.  There 
was  no  trace  of  man,  of  plowing,  nor  planting, 
nor  building.  All  around  her  the  hill-tops  fol- 
lowed each  other  in  wavy  outlines,  rising,  fall- 
ing, blending,  until  her  eyes  rested  on  the  long 
soft  lines  of  a  sea  of  hills,  whose  tops  steadfast 
and  motionless,  seemed,  as  the  vision  were  car- 
ried along  them,  to  be  undulating  and  moving 
— an  earth-ocean  lying  in  the  deep  blue  haze  of 
the  borders. 

It  was  a  grand  council  chamber  fora  restless, 


TERRES  AND  FAITH.  US 

unhappy  soul,  and  Terres  was  insensibly  soft- 
ened and  elevated  by  her  walk  through  it.  She 
was  distinctly  conscious  of  a  great  change  in 
the  spiritual  atmosphere  when  she  reached 
Mosskirtle  with  its  queer  jumble  of  low  gray 
houses,  every  house  standing  alone ;  every 
house  looking  to  a  different  quarter ;  all  of  them 
keeping  an  air  of  watching,  as  if  it  were  still 
necessary  to  keep  a  constant  eye  upon  the 
English  border. 

She  had  ordered  her  carriage  to  be  in  wait- 
ing here  for  her,  and  in  half  an  hour  she  was  at 
Harribee  Home.  There  was  no  drive  through 
the  garden ;  it  was  necessary  to  alight  at 
the  wicket,  and  walk  up  the  central  path  to  the 
front  door.  So  Faith  saw  her  coming,  and  she 
went  to  meet  her. 

"  I  am  an  unusual  visitor,  Miss  Harribee." 
"  You  are  vera  welcome.     Come  in." 
For  a  moment  she  stood  with  the  handle  of 
the  best-parlor  door  in  her  hand,  then  she  said, 
"  it  is  but  a  cold-like  and   gloomy  room.     The 
houseplace  and  the  fire  will  be  better,  I'm  think- 
ing." 

"  A  great  deal  better.  I  am  chill  and  tired. 
I  came  over  Dead-for-cold-hill." 


Il6  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"Whate'er  sent  you  that  road,  Ma'am?  It 
is  a  lonely  bit  to  travel, — and  bleak  and  eerie." 

"But  how  cozy  and  comfortable  is  this  place!" 
and  she  sank  with  an  air  of  real  enjoyment  into 
the  large  cushioned  chair  which  Faith  placed 
for  her  on  the  very  edge  of  the  sheep-skin  rug. 
The  large  room  was  exquisitely  clean  ;  the  fire 
was  blazing  high  up  the  wide  chimney,  and  the 
table  running  along  the  room  beneath  the  two 
windows  was  piled  with  clean  linen  which  Faith 
was  sprinkling  and  folding  ready  for  the  iron. 

Davie  lay  upon  the  rug,  building  sheep-folds 
with  some  colored  blocks,  and  when  Miss  Terres 
spoke  to  him,  he  turned  his  wistful  blue  eyes 
upon  her  and  seemed  to  be  greatly  impressed 
by  her  fine  appearance.  Proud  and  passionate 
as  she  was,  Terres  Graeme  had  a  womanly  pity 
for  the  boy.  She  had  heard  of  his  calamity, 
and  when  he  touched  softly  her  satin  gown,  and 
the  white  minever  with  which  it  was  trimmed, 
she  stooped  and  kissed  him. 

The  action  touched  Faith  in  a  way  she  did 
not  try  to  understand.  Tears  came  to  her 
eyes,  and  to  hide  them  she  turned  to  the  linen 
and  began  sprinkling  it.  Terres  was  fascinated 
by  her  grace  and  beauty,  and  especially  by  the 


TERRES  AND  FAITH.  n) 

sense  of  strength  and  tenderness  which  diffused 
itself  around  her  like  an  atmosphere.  There 
was  a  few  minutes'  silence,  during  which  Terres 
watched  her  scattering  the  drops  of  water  over 
the  lawn  kerchiefs  she  was  folding.  Then  she 
said, 

"  Do  not  stay  your  work  for  me.  I  like  to 
watch  you  at  it.  Faith  Harribee,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  you  can  guess  why  I  have  called  to 
see  you  this  morning." 

"  Would  you  be  sae  kind,  ma'am,  as  to  tell 
me  why  ?  I  am  gay  stupid  at  guessing  things." 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  do  really  wish  you 
to  listen  to  what  Lord  Graeme  says.  I  will 
gladly  give  you  a  sister's  welcome,  Faith.  Do 
not  refuse  my  brother  because  you  fear  me." 

"  There  is  naething  to  fear  me  anent  you, 
Miss  Graeme.  I  dinna  think  o'  fearing  man  nor 
woman." 

"  What  then  hinders?  Is  not  Graeme  hand- 
some, rich,  noble,  every  thing  that  women 
desire?  He  can  make  you  a  great  lady.  I  am 
sure  he  will  make  you  happy." 

"  Honors  and  riches  canna  buy  a  true  heart, 
Miss  Graeme — and  I'm  no  caring  for  them. 
Like  the  happy  Shunammite  woman  of  old,  '  I 


Il8  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS, 

dwell  among  my  ain  folk ' ;  and  there  isna 
court  nor  castle  can  do  mair  for  me  than  that. 
Forbye,  I  dinna  love  Lord  Graeme.  There  is 
anither  one.  I'll  no  be  feared  to  speak  his 
name — 'tis  Archie  Renwick,  and  I  am  promised 
to  him — and  I  love  him  wi'  all  my  heart.  You'll 
be  to  ken  what  that  means,  surely,  Miss  Graeme. 
A  woman  like  you  must  hae  had  lovers  and 
must  hae  loved  some  ane  o'  them.  You'll  ken 
then  that  a  true  woman  canna  play  fast  and 
loose  wi'  her  hea.rt." 

"  But  if  the  man  you  love  is  unworthy  of  you, 
Faith  :  I  assure  you  that  Renwick  is  not  fit  to 
latch  the  buckles  on  your  shoes." 

"  Still,  I  hae  set  him  high  in  my  heart,  ma'am. 
If  nane  but  the  worthy  were  loved  there  would 
be  many  a  starved  heart  in  this  warld.  I  ken 
naething  wrang  o'  Archie,  and  I  dinna  want  to 
ken  wrang  o'  him.  Most  folks  hae  some  faults." 
Then  she  turned  from  the  table  and  looked 
steadily  at  Terres.  "You  hae  a  true  face,  Miss 
Graeme.  I  think  if  you  loved  ance,  you  would 
love  the  same  man  for  life — him,  and  nae  ither. 
It  is  sae  wi'  me  too." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Faith — him  and  no 
other." 


TERRES  AND  FAITH.  119 

"  But  indeed,  ma'am,  you  mustna  think  I  am 
not  gratefu'  for  your  kindness,  and  for  Lord 
Graeme's  liking.  We  may  be  pleased  wi'  the 
offer  we  dinna  think  it  right  to  tak' ;  and  I'll 
no  say  but  what  I  am  vera  much  pleased,  mair 
especial  wi'  your  ain  gude  will  in  the  matter." 

'And  you  will  not  listen  to  my  brother, 
then  ?  " 

"Archie's  voice  is  in  my  ear.  I  can  hear  nae 
ither  voice  for  it." 

"  Graeme  would  be  good  to  this  poor  boy. 
Last  night  he  was  talking  to  me  of  the  great 
Burgeons  in  London  and  Paris  who  might  do 
something  for  him." 

"  That  is  the  greatest  temptation  mortal  man 
can  gie  me  ;  but  folk  mustna  do  ill  for  the 
chance  of  some  possible  gude.  God  has  plenty 
better  roads  than  that  ane — and  when  Davie  is 
a  bit  stronger,  if  there  is  help  on  earth  for  him 
he  sail  have  it." 

Then  Miss  Graeme  rose,  and  Faith  turned 
from  her  work  and  stood  beside  her.  Into  her 
clear  steadfast  eyes  Terres  looked  with  a  long 
questioning  gaze.  "  I  want  such  a  friend  as 
you  could  be,  Faith  Harribee ;  may  I  come  and 
see  you  often?  " 


120  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

"  You'll  be  welcome,  Miss  Graeme  ;  for  there 
is  that  and  this  to  talk  about,  without  spending 
mair  words  on  what  it  is  useless  to  even  think  of.:> 

"  You  mean  we  are  not  to  speak  again  of 
Lord  Graeme's  love  for  you  ?  " 

"  That  is  just  what  I  mean,  ma'am.  From  me 
one  no  is  as  gude  as  a  hundred  ;  and  the  thing 
I  mean  to-day  I'll  be  likely  to  mean  to  the  vera 
day  o*  my  death." 

They  were  walking  together  down  the  garden 
as  these  words  were  uttered,  and  Terres  did 
not  answer  them.  She  stepped  into  her  car- 
riage  in  a  sudden  gloom ;  and  being  quite  un- 
used to  control  her  feelings,  she  made  no  effort 
to  conceal  the  sadness  and  indifference  which 
had  taken  possession  of  her.  Faith  thought 
she  was  offended,  for  to  her  farewell  smile  she 
made  no  return  save  a  slight  movement  of  the 
head  as  she  drove  away. 

Yet  nothing  was  further  from  the  truth. 
She  had  received  during  her  visit  an  insight 
into  a  life  which  she  might  have  led.  She  was 
unhappy  and  occupied  with  her  own  reflections, 
and  by  force  of  long  habit,  not  able  to  put 
aside  personal  feelings  even  for  the  sake  of 
those  whom  she  really  liked. 


TERRES  A  N-D  FAITH.  1 2 1 

Her  dark  face  troubled  Graeme  as  soon  as  he 
saw  it.  "  You  have  been  cross,  Terres,"  he 
said  fretfully.  "  I  might  have  known  it.  I 
dare  say  you  have  contrived  to  frighten  Faith 
to  death  !  " 

"  I  was  not  cross  with  her.  She  is  a  grand 
woman,  but  she  is  not  for  you." 

He  pulled  two  chairs  to  the  hearth,  and  in 
her  bonnet  and  mantilla  she  sat  down,  and 
reviewed  her  visit  to  Faith  with  him.  Graeme 
however  refused  to  believe  in  Faith's  resolution. 

"  A  woman  gets  tired  of  saying  no.  I  shall 
not  get  tired  of  asking  her  to  say  yes.  I  mean 
to  marry  Faith  Harribee." 

"  She  will  not  marry  you." 

"Yes,  she  will." 

"  She  told  me  she  would  marry  that  man 
who  is  farming  Shepherd's  Bush." 

"  He  won't  farm  Shepherd's  Bush  much 
longer.  Thanks  be !  I  have  him  under  my 
hand  and  he  shall  feel  the  weight  of  it." 

"  I  don't  blame  you.  I  wish  I  had  Will 
Seaton  under  my  hand. 

"  Pooh  !  For  what  good  ?  You  would  have 
a  hard  cry  and  then  forgive  him." 

"  Would  I  ?     You  know  better." 


1*2  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"  Renwick  is  a  weak  miserable  creature.  To 
think  of  such  an  animal  pretending  to  the  love 
of  a  woman  like  Faith  Harribee !  He  is  for- 
ever in  some  public  house  singing  senseless, 
raiding,  riding  songs  ;  he  is  never  on  the  hills. 
Lately  he  has  done  nothing  but  dangle  after 
Lander's  pretty  daughter.  Shepherd's  Bush 
has  gone  to  rack  and  ruin  in  his  care." 

"  If  Faith  knew  these  things?" 

"  She  shall  know  them.  A  score  of  tongues 
on  every  side  shall  tell  her,  and  if  in  spite  of  all 
warnings  she  still  marries  him,  then — " 

"Then,  what?" 

"  She  may  sup  the  sorrow  she  is  so  vain  and 
foolish  to  brew.  I'll  not  lift  a  finger  for  Archie 
Renwick's  wife." 

Unfortunately,  there  was  only  too  much 
truth  in  Graeme's  accusations.  But  the  heart  as 
well  as  the  understanding  has  its  arguments, 
and  Faith's  heart  found  plenty  of  excuses  for 
her  lover  that  her  understanding  did  not  always 
approve.  Archie's  great  temptation  was  one 
she  did  not  comprehend,  one  of  which  she  was 
totally  ignorant,  and  which  therefore  she  had 
no  power  to  charm  away.  It  lay  in  his  hatred 
of  Davie.  He  had  indeed  made  spasmodic 


TERRES  AND  FAITH.  123 

attempts  to  conquer  the  unnatural  sin,  but,  in 
spite  of  them,  he  found  his  dislike  and  jealousy 
stronger  and  bitterer  every  day.  And  never  is 
hatred  so  unreasonable  and  so  pitiless  as  when 
it  is  nursed  against  helpless  childhood.  Cruel 
people  do  to  babes  whom  they  dislike  such 
spiteful  and  barbarous  injuries  as  they  never 
would  think  of  inflicting  upon  men.  Therefore, 
no  hatred  is  so  devilish  and  corrupting  to  the 
moral  nature  as  the  hatred  cherished  against 
the  helpless. 

Archie  was  himself  often  terrified  at  the 
wicked  thoughts  which  tormented  him  about  the 
unfortunate  boy  whom  he  had  regarded  as 
standing  in  the  way  of  his  prosperity.  To  find 
himself  wishing  Davie  in  the  grave,  and  to  sud- 
denly arrest  his  thoughts  in  the  middle  of  some 
infamous  scheme  for  compassing  such  a  result 
was  a  personal  experience  daily  becoming  more 
and  more  familiar  to  him.  And  when  men  are 
in  such  sore  straits  of  temptation,  if  they  don't 
pray,  they  drink. 

Archie  drank.  At  that  time  in  Scotland, 
drinking  was  a  crime  so  common  as  to  have 
lost  all  moral  significence.  The  noble  and  the 
peasant,  the  merchant  and  the  artizan,  the  kirk 


124  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

membtr  as  well  as  the  despiser  of  ordinances, 
all  alike  drank,  and  were  not  ashamed  of  the 
fact,  unles*  they  permitted  their  dissipation  to 
interfere  -with  their  business  obligations,  or  to 
waste  their  substance.  It  was  only  the  strict 
sect  to  which  Faith  belonged  who  really 
seemed  to  believe  that  "  no  drunkard  shall  enter 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,"  and  even  it  winked 
at  irregularities  in  this  matter,  which  if  trans- 
ferred to  dancing  or  merry-making  would  have 
brought  a  kirk  session  upon  the  offender. 

So  the  days  came  and  went,  and  they  ap- 
peared to  be  in  the  main,  just  like  one  another. 
But  Archie  with  his  omissions  and  regrets,  his 
variable  moods,  his  constant  slips  into  sensual 
mire,  his  despairs,  his  tempers,  and  his  prom- 
ises, made  every  fresh  day  to  Faith's  inner  life 
a  day  apart ;  a  day  with  its  own  special  hopes 
and  fears  and  disappointments. 

She  did  not  weary  of  helping  him.  She  was 
never  petted  or  angry.  Her  nature  was  too 
even  and  grand  to  worry  or  to  fret.  It  was 
Archie  who  weaned  first.  It  was  Archie  who 
became  irritable  and  cross,  and  hard  to  live 
with,  even  an  hour  at  a  time.  Ashamed  of  his 
own  continual  failures,  irritated  by  his  own 


TERRES  AND  FAITH.  12- 

inabilities,  Faith's  pure,  regular,  busy  life,  and 
tender  forbearance,  made  him  angry.  She  was 
strong,  and  he  was  weak  ;  she  was  ever  gaining, 
he  was  ever  losing,  in  every  way  the  conditions 
of  love  were  reversed,  and  Archie  was  begin- 
ning  to  loathe  the  circumstances  which  always 
placed  him  in  a  humiliating  position. 

Still  Faith  never  thought  of  deserting  him. 
Her  troth  was  to  her  as  sacred  a  thing  as  mar- 
riage.  It  did  not  even  strike  her  that  Archie 
came  much  less  frequently  to  Harribee.  "  It 
was  winter  and  the  snow  lay  deep ;  "  she  found 
plenty  of  excuses  for  every  broken  promise. 
She  was  preparing  for  her  wedding,  and  she 
went  calmly  on  spinning  her  household  linen 
and  plenishing.  As  the  months  went  on  she 
began  to  talk  of  her  bridal,  of  the  manner  in 
which  it  was  to  be  solemnized,  and  of  the  dress 
she  intended  to  wear. 

Phemie  listened  to  her  with  a  grim  pity.  She 
longed  to  tell  her  all  she  had  heard  about 
AnnieLander,  but  Faith's  own  heart  was  so  true, 
it  was  impossible  to  drop  a  seed  of  suspicion 
into  it.  Only  once  did  Phemie  try  to  do  so. 

"  I  met  Archie  Renwick  and  Annie  Lander 
last  night,  Faith,  when  I  was  at  the  village." 


126  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"Ay!  Whereabouts?" 

"Just  ayont  the  auld  brig.  There  was  a 
dance  at  Lilburn's  farm,  and  they  were  awa* 
thegither  to  it.  Hech !  but  she  is  a  bonnie 
lass  !  " 

"  I  hae  heard  that,  many  times.  Weel,  weel, 
bonnie  lasses  must  hae  some  youth.  I  hae 
thocht  whiles,  that  our  ain  Agnes  was  keepit' 
too  close  and  tight.  Annie  Lander  would  be 
safe  enough  with  Archie.  He  told  me  that  he 
and  Lander  were  fast  friends. 

"  I  dinna  think  Archie  should  gae  up  and 
down  Esk  Water  wi'  every  bonnie  lass  he  can 
pick  up.  He  is  as  gude  as  a  marrit  man,  and 
he  hasna  been  to  see  you  for  near  a  week  gane." 

"  I'm  making  nae  complaint,  Phemie,  and 
Archie  doesna  run  after  a'  the  pretty  girls 
by  Esk  ;  you  shouldna  say  such  things,  Phemie. 
I  would  hae  little  opinion  o'  myself,  if  I  was 
feared  o'  Archie  takin'  a  friend's  daughter  to  a 
farm  dance.  You'll  mind,  the  Landers  are  new- 
comers  in  Mosskirtle.  I  think  it  vera  kind  o* 
Archie.  He'll  be  telling  us  a'  about  it,  when 
he  get's  o'er  the  moor  again." 

And  Phemie  looked  at  her  calm  face,  which 
yet  nad  some  shadow  of  trouble  in  it,  and  put 


TERKES  AND  FAITH.  12  J 

back  the  rest  of  the  words  she  had  determined 
to  say.  "  There  will  be  nae  use  in  them,"  she 
thought,  "  meeting  trouble  is  just  gaeing  into 
the  enemy's  country.  There  isna  a  single 
promise  gi'en  us  for  such  a  useless  fool-hardy 
journey.  There's  a  time  to  speak,  and  a  time 
to  forbear  speaking — and  its  maistly,  if  you  are 
a  prudent  body — the  time  to  forbear  speaking." 

Then  spring-time  came  again,  and  Faith  was 
very  busy.  The  lambing  season  took  her  very 
often  up  the  fells,  for  her  special  duty  was  to 
look  after  those  lambs  too  weak  to  follow 
their  mothers,  or  who,  from  any  cause,  had  been 
left  lonely  and  hungry  on  the  windy  hills. 
There  was  not  a  day  in  which  she  did  not  carry 
down  in  her  own  arms  several  of  these  deserted 
little  ones  to  be  fed  and  cared  for  at  the  Home. 

Late  one  Sabbath  evening  she  was  coming 
down  the  Catter  fell  with  a  couple  in  her  plaid 
neuk.  She  held  them  firmly  in  her  strong 
arms.  Their  little  heads  were  against  her 
breast.  Davie  was  at  her  side.  She  came  rap- 
idly onward  with  the  springy  steps  of  one  born 
on  the  heather.  The  rosy  light  of  the  setting 
sun  made  a  kind  of  glory,  in  which  she  moved 
with  a  swift  grace  that  was  wonderful. 


128  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

Lord  Graeme  counted  it  a  great  fortune  that 
he  was  passing  that  way,  and  saw  this  vision  of 
womanhood.  It  inspired  in  him  a  kind  of 
religion.  He  felt  for  the  moment  an  irrepres- 
sible sentiment  of  praise  and  gratitude  to  the 
Maker  of  a  being  so  beautiful  and  gracious. 

"  Faith  !  "  he  cried,  "  Oh,  how  I  love  you  ! 
How  I  envy  the  little  creatures  in  your  arms! 
How  I  envy  the  very  heather  and  benty  grass 
that  feels  your  steps !  I  never  hoped  for  a  joy 
like  this  when  I  left  the  castle.  I  \vas  going 
only  to  treat  myself  to  a  sight  of  your  home, 
and  I  have  seen  you  also  !  Let  me  be  thank- 
ful!" 

"  Lord  Graeme  dinna  talk  to  me  that  way. 
It  isna  right,  and  I'll  no  listen  to  you.  And 
you  ken  weel  that  you  shouldna  be  riding  just 
for  your  ain  pleasure  upon  the  Sabbath  day." 

"  And  what  then  are  you  doing  on  the  hills? 
Was  it  to  meet  Renwick  you  went  up  Catter 
fell?' 

"  I  am  saving  life,  lord.  I  canna  let  the  wee 
things  perish  on  the  hill-side." 

"  Of  course  not.  You  can  have  pity  on  a 
lamb — a  lamb  can  be  sold  for  something — but 
a  man  is  such  a  common  creature.  I  am  dying 


TERRES  AND  FAITH.  129 

for  a  kind  word,  Faith.  When  will  you  have 
pity  on  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  a'  the  same  as  a  married  woman,  lord. 
You  should  think  shame  o'  yourself  to  say  such 
words.  Let  me  pass  you,  for  the  lambs  are 
cauld  and  hungry." 

"  You  are  not  the  same  as  married,  Faith. 
Renwick  will  never  marry  you.  Mind  what  I  say." 

"  Then,  lord,  I'll  think  nae  kinder  o'  you  for 
being  sae  ill  a  prophet.  This  isnaaday  for  me 
to  be  minding  myself,  and  I'll  no  speak  another 
word  on  the  matter." 

"  Good-night  then,  Faith.  You  can  not  pre- 
vent me  from  thinking  about  you." 

"  Dinna  mix  me  up  then  wi'  any  ill  thochts, 
lord.  Hae  that  much  care  o'  me,  ony  way." 

"  Upon  my  honor  you  ask  a  grand  thing, 
and  I'll  try  and  keep  your  charge,  Faith." 

He  had  dismounted  from  his  horse  when  he 
saw  her  approaching,  and  he  stood  beside  it 
while  he  spoke.  With  the  last  words  he 
mounted  and  rode  slowly  away,  taking  the  only 
road  which  permitted  him  to  watch  Faith  until 
Phemie  met  her  at  her  own  gate,  and  the  two 
women,  with  the  two  lost  lambs  faintly  bleat- 
ing, disappeared  in  the  home  fold. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FAITH'S  DARK  HOUR. 

""*  Measure  thy  life  by  loss  instead  of  gain, 
Not  by  the  wine  drunk  but  the  wine  poured  forth." 

"  Yet  this  one  thing  I  learn  to  know 
Each  day  more  surely  as  I  go, 
That  I  am  glad  the  good  and  ill 
By  changeless  laws  are  ordered  still 

Not  as  I  will." 

H.  H. 

THE  Spring  had  opened  early  with  some 
fine  warm  days,  but  it  betrayed  its  prom- 
ise around  Esk  Water,  and  delayed  long  its  full 
fruition.  So  Faith  had  much  anxious  care  and 
many  long  walks  concerning  her  flocks,  which, 
however,  in  spite  of  the  chilly  nights  and  damp 
days,  prospered  wonderfully. 

One  night,  near  the  end  of  April,  she  came 
home  very  weary.  It  is  the  heart  holds  up  the 
body,  and  Faith's  heart  had  been  heavy  for 
nearly  a  week,  during  which  space  Archie  had 
not  been  at  the  farm.  She  was  afraid  he  had 


FAITH'S  DARK  HOUR.  131 

heard  of  her  interview  with  Graeme  on  the 
previous  Sabbath,  for  the  hatred  was  not 
upon  one  side  ;  Archie  returned  his  landlord's 
dislike  very  heartily. 

On  this  night  she  was  alone  on  the  fells. 
Davie  was  not  with  her ;  he  had  been  ailing 
lately,  and  the  air  was  foggy  and  chilly,  so 
her  own  fearful  thoughts  were  her  only  com- 
panions. As  she  entered  the  kitchen  upon  her 
return,  Phemie  looked  through  the  house-place 
door  with  a  face  full  of  suppressed  excitement : 

"  You  are  welcome  home,  Faith,  and  look 
you  here !  Carrier  Joe  has  left  a  box  for  you. 
It's  frae  London  or  some  foreign  pairt,  I'm 
thinking." 

"A  box!" 

Such  a  thing  had  never  happened  to  Faith 
before.  She  started  up  instantly  to  go  to  it. 

"  You're  wet  shod,  ma'am,  and  you'll  be  to 
change  your  shoon  first." 

There  was  no  denying  the  old  woman's  posi- 
tive manner,  nor  yet  the  justice  of  her  direction, 
so  Faith  not  only  complied  with  it,  but  also 
removed  her  plaid  and  bonnet,  and  gave  her 
usual  directions  about  the  milk  for  the  young 
lambs.  Then  she  felt  at  liberty  to  satisfy 


T32  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS, 

her  curiosity.  The  box  was  a  large  deal  box, 
secured  with  bands  of  iron,  and  there  was  much 
pleasant  curiosity  exercised  in  the  removal  of 
these  bands,  and  the  opening  of  the  lid.  The 
first  thing  that  presented  itself  to  their  eager 
eyes  was  an  exquisite  painting  of  the  unfor- 
gotten  Agnes. 

The  fair  flower-like  face  was  so  like  her 
mother's  face  that  Faith  felt  as  if  she  had 
received  both  mother  and  sister  back  again. 
She  uttered  a  joyful  cry  and  kissed  it  over  and 
over  with  passionate  affection.  Then  she  put 
it  in  Phemie's  hands,  and  Phemie  pressed  it  to 
her  breast  and  cried  about  it  as  if  Agnes  were 
once  more  a  baby  in  her  arms.  Agnes  had 
been  gone  more  than  eight  years,  and  this  was 
the  first  token  of  her  remembrance  she  had 
sent  back  to  those  who  had  long  forgiven  but 
never  forgotten  her.  It  was  such  a  wonderful 
thing  to  happen  !  It  was  impossible  not  to  be 
excited  and  full  of  joy  over  it. 

Below  the  picture  there  was  a  piece  of  rich 
satin,  some  fine  laces  and  a  heavy  gold  brooch 
for  Faith.  Many  other  beautiful  things  fol- 
lowed, ornamental  and  useful,  both ;  but  the 
presents  which  touched  Faith's  heart  most 


FAITH'S  DARK  HOUR  133 

were  the  books  and  pictures,  and  play- 
things, suitable  for  a  lad  of  Davie's  age,  and 
which  had  evidently  been  selected  with  great 
care  and  love.  It  was  a  box  full  of  affection 
as  well  as  of  beauty;  a  box  which  induced  all 
kinds  of  pleasant  memories,  and  conversation, 
and  pitiful  wonder. 

They  were  still  standing  over  it  when  Ren- 
wick  entered.  He  had  been  drinking,  and  was 
— as  Phemie  whispered  Faith — "  much  the. 
waur  o'  it."  What  man  is  ever  the  better  of 
it  ?  Faith  scarcely  noticed  the  warning.  She 
was  still  in  a  singular  state  of  happy  excite- 
ment, and  she  called  out  joyfully,  "  Look  you 
here,  Archie  !  Our  bonnie  Agnes  has  sent  us 
a'  these  braw  things !  And  here,  the  best  o' 
all,  is  her  ain  sweet  sel! " 

He  looked  at  the  gifts  in  a  sullen  scornful 
manner,  steadying  himself  as  h-c  stood  by  lean- 
ing against  the  long  oak  dresser,  his  tall  sturdy 
figure  looming  up  against  the  shelves  filled 
with  shining  rows  of  china  ware  and  brass  ware. 

"  You  are  much  set  up  for  naething  !  A  bit 
painted  face!  Ay,  its  gude  enou'  for  her!" 

Faith  was  much  grieved ;  more  by  the 
expression  given  to  the  words,  than  by  their 


134  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

actual  import ;  but  she  refused  to  notice  the 
ill-nature  of  the  remark,  and  added  : 

"  Look  at  this  bonnie  satin  and  lace,  and  the 
gold  brooch  forbye!  I'll  need  to  ware  no  siller 
now  on  my  wedding  dress,  Archie.  They  hae 
come  in  a  gude  time,  hae  they  not?" 

Then  he  struck  the  dresser  a  blow  with  his 
clenched  fist  that  made  the  china  and  brass 
ring  and  tremble  through  all  their  lengths,  and 
shouted  out: 

"  Nae  wife  o'  mine  shall  be  wed  in  a  dress 
bought  wi'  money  made  in  the  deil's  ain  house  ! 
I'm  not  that  far  gane  i'  sin,  thank  God ! " 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about,  Archie!  " 

"  I  know  fine  what  I'm  talking  about, 
woman  !  Lander  told  me  that  he  heard  that 
black-faced  deil  Graeme  saying  your  sister's 
husband  was  ane  o'  the  biggest  play-actors  in 
London- — mair  shame  to  an  honest  lad  like  me 
to  hear  tell  o' — and  your  sister  canna  be  o'er 
gude,  consorting  wi'  such  and  such  like." 

"  My  sister  is  my  sister,"  answered  Faith 
with  a  calm,  proud  manner  which  became  her 
well.  "  My  sister  is  my  sister !  Wherever  she 
may  be,  she  can  never  get  beyond  God's  love 


FAfTff'S  DARK  HOUR.  135 

and  mercy.  We  are  a*  of  us  needing  that, 
Archie." 

"Folks  that  sit  in  play-houses!  They  are 
the  deil's  ain  congregation  !  " 

"  They  may  not  be  any  waur  in  God's  sight, 
Archie,  than  the  folks  that  sit  their  senses 
awa'  in  change-houses." 

Then  Phemie,  with  that  passion  which  is  so 
awesome  in  the  old,  said,  "  Maister  Renwick, 
the  whisky  is  far  aboon  your  wit.  And  God 
hasna  set  the  like  o'  you  to  be  a  judge  o'er  his 
-wandering  bairns.  If  they  are  God's  elect, 
™ha'  shall  daur  to  lay  aught  to  their  charge? 
Gae  your  ways  hame,  Renwick ;  you'll  hae 
enough  to  do  to  mak'  your  ain  calKng  and 
election  sure." 

"  Faith  Harribee,  you  must  get  rid  o'  the 
fools  that  are  around  you.  I'm  no  going  to 
bide  either  o'  them " — and  he  clashed  the 
heavy  door  behind  him  and  left  Faith  standing 
mute  and  angry  and  full  of  trouble  over  her 
splendid  presents. 

It  was  a  cruel  ending  to  such  a  happy  hour. 
Faith  put  the  braws  back  into  the  box  without 
a  word  ;  but  Phemie  noticed  that  she  hung  the 
likeness  of  Agnes  above  the  hearth  at  which 


136  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

she  continually  sat.  The  action  said  definitely 
to  Phemie  that  she  had  determined  to  stand 
by  her  sister,  no  matter  what  Archie  Renwick 
might  say  in  opposition. 

"  It  is  Annie  Lander,"  thought  Phemie  an- 
grily. "  He  has  kent  aboot  the  play-acting,  doot- 
less,  ever  since  Lander  came  to  Mosskirtle  ;  but 
when  he  likit  Faith  and  wanted  to  marry  Faith, 
little  his  conscience  hurt  him  anent  that  mat- 
ter. Deary  me !  Faults  grow  thick  as  love 
grows  thin." 

May  came  in  smiling  and  charming,  and  the 
trees  were  in  blossom,  and  the  garden  sweet  in 
all  its  paths  with  violets  and  wall-flowers.  But 
Archie  came  not.  Faith  watched  all  the  next 
week  for  him.  She  seemed  to  be  doing  her 
housework  as  cheerfully  as  usual,  but  in  reality 
her  heart  was  faint  and  sick,  and  she  was  always 
covertly  watching  the  road  over  the  fells. 
Phemie  felt  for  her  a  true  pity,  but  she  had  no- 
way to  offer  her  comfort ;  for  Faith  was  always 
silent  in  her  sorrow.  She  never  named  Archie's 
absence,  never  spoke  of  the  quarrel  at  his  last 
visit,  never  speculated  as  to  his  return,  and  her 
reticence  closed  Phemie's  mouth  as  well. 

And  it  was  seldom  at  this  season  of  the  year 


FAITH'S  DARK  HOUR.  137 

Faith  went  to  the  village.  Even  if  she  had 
gone  every  day,  there  was  not  a  kimmer  in  it 
who  would  have  dared  to  offer  her  the  story  of 
Archie  Renvvick's  devotion  to  pretty  Annie 
Lander.  So,  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  Archie's 
neglect,  Faith  judged  him  by  her  own  heart, 
and  still  trusted  that  sooner  or  later  he  would 
"  come  and  mak'  it  up  again."  But  in  the 
meantime  how  wearily  went  the  hours  !  Stupid 
with  a  dumb  sorrow,  she  had  to  learn  to  find 
her  way  through  a  labyrinth  of  daily  cares, 
hoping,  and  fearing,  and  consciously  listening 
through  all  she  said  and  did,  for  one  voice  and 
one  step. 

Nearly  three  weeks  passed  in  this  miserable 
uncertainty.  She  never  thought  of  sending 
any  letter  or  message  to  him.  Archie  had 
come  into  her  presence  under  the  control  of 
whisky,  and  deliberately  wounded  and  of- 
fended her.  Until  he  was  so  conscious  of  his 
fault  as  to  be  willing  to  acknowledge  it,  Faith 
saw  no  hope  of  any  pleasant  intercourse.  But 
oh  !  one  look,  one  word  would  have  been  suffi- 
cient. Her  heart  had  the  pardoning  power  in 
plenitude ;  she  was  only  waiting,  sorrowfully 


138  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

and  lovingly  waiting,  to  forgive  the  past,  and 
trust  him  fully  again  for  the  future. 

One  morning  she  said  to  Phemie,  "  I'll  no 
require  to  be  on  the  fells  this  day;  sae,  get  me 
the  lettuce  and  cress  seed,  and  I'll  go  to  the 
garden  and  sow  them." 

"  The  garden  is  cauld  and  wet,  forbye  there's 
plenty  to  see  after  in  the  house." 

"  You're  vera  short  wi'  folk  this  morning, 
Phemie.  What's  put  you  about  at  a'  ?  " 

"  Plenty  to  put  me  about,  inner  and  outer, 
mer.  I'm  bone-tired  o'  trying  to  please  folk  so 
to-and-again,  they  don't  know  what  they  want 
an  hour  at  a  time.  I'm  up  to  my  elbows  in 
work,  too,  and  you  talking  o*  going  into  the 
garden." 

"  Gie  me  the  seeds,  Phemie." 

"  Dinna  gae  oot,  Faith  ;  you'll  get  cold,  lassie. 
Stay  in  the  house  to-day  for  ony  sake." 

"  I'm  minded  to  sow  the  seeds.  What  ails 
you  at  a'  ?  You're  no  like  yoursel'." 

"  Vera  weel,  ma'am.     Tak'  your  ain  way." 

A  little  annoyed  and  puzzled  by  Phemie's 

manner,  Faith  went  down  to  the  beds  prepared 

for  the  salad  plants,  and  began  to  sow  and  to 

rake.     There  had  been  heavy  rain,  and  the  air 

I 


FAITH'S  DARK  HOUR,  139 

had  that  delightfully  fresh,  clean  feeling  which 
follows  the  clearing  up.  It  blew  briskly,  though 
there  were  sudden  gleams  of  sunshine ;  and 
after  she  had  worked  herself  into  a  glow  that 
brought  a  kind  of  peace  with  it,  she  looked  up 
to  see  what  Davie  was  doing. 

He  had  dropped  his  spade,  and  was  leaning 
upon  the  stone-wall  gazing  into  the  green 
space  before  him.  At  such  times  his  childish 
face  had  a  sorrowful,  questioning  look  that 
Faith  could  never  endure  to  see.  Whatever 
work  was  in  her  hand,  she  dropped  it  and  went 
to  him. 

"  Are  you  tired,  Davie,  dear  ?  " 

"Ay,  Faith,  I'm  tired  like.  I'm  looking  for 
something,  but  I  canna  find  it." 

"What  is  it,  Davie?" 

"  I  dinna  rightly  ken."  His  eyes  wandered 
far  off  to  the  horizon,  and  a  profound  melan- 
choly shadowed  his  generally  happy  face.  It 
seemed  to  Faith  as  if  for  once  she  found  herself 
quite  unable  to  lift  her  own  spirit  to  that  point 
at  which  it  was  able  to  catch  the  poor  boy's 
intelligence.  She  stood  silently  by  him,  watch- 
ing the  great  blue  eyes  that  so  dimly  lighted 
the  veiled  soul  behind  them.  Then  she  was 


*4°  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

aware  of  a  man  coming  slowly  across  the  mead 
ows  by  Esk  Water. 

As  he  approached  Harribee  he  turned  his 
steps  towards  the  gate,  and  Faith  perceived 
that  it  was  Willie  Cavers,  the  dale  piper  ;  a 
worthless,  drinking,  good-for-naught,  barely 
tolerated  by  respectable  people. 

"  Gude  morning,  mistress.  Hoo's  a'  wi' 
you  ?  " 

"  Weel  enough,  Willie,  thank  you.  You  are 
early  astir  wi'  your  pipes." 

"  Late,  you  mean,  mistress.  I  hae  been  play, 
ing  a'  nicht  at  the  bridal  at  Landers.  It  was 
a  blythesome  bridal,  and  a  bonnie  bride." 

"  Wha  was  the  bride?  " 

"  Wha  but  his  ain  lassie?  A  bonnie  bride 
she  was." 

"  I  hae  heard  tell  that  she  is  a  vera  bonnie 
lass." 

"  And  she's  gotten  a  braw  lad.  There  isn't 
a  handsomer  lad  in  the  Marches  than  Archie 
Renwick." 

"  Than  wha?  " 

"Than  Archie  Renwick,  the  bridegroom." 

Then  Faith  walked  away  and  stooped  down 
and  began  to  scatter  the  seed  in  the  narrow 


FAITH'S  DARK  HOUR.  141 

drill.  But  her  heart  was  beating  as  if  it  would 
burst,  and  she  felt  giddy  and  trembling.  As 
in  a  dream  she  heard  the  piper  talking  a  few 
moments  to  Davie,  and  then  go  onward,  lilt- 
ing his  favorite  rant.  When  his  voice  died 
away  she  raised  herself  slowly,  bared  her  head 
to  the  breeze,  and  white  as  a  ghost  stood  look- 
ing away  over  the  hills.  Short,  pitiful  ejacula- 
tions for  strength  and  comfort  parted  her  lips, 
and  ere  long,  as  if  in  answer  to  them,  Davie 
came  silently  to  her  side,  and  clasped  her 
hands.  Then  she  stooped,  lifted  his  face 
between  her  hands,  and  kissed  him. 

"  Love  me  weel  now,  Davie.  Love  me  weel 
now,  for  you  are  a'  I  have." 

She  did  not  weep,  and  she  had  no  wish  to 
complain.  As  yet  she  did  not  feel  as  if  any 
human  consolation  could  help  her.  Phemie 
she  knew  would  abuse  Archie,  and  side  passion- 
ately with  her,  but  God  would  give  her  com- 
fort, and  yet  say  no  word  wrong  of  the  lad  she 
had  loved  and  trusted  so  completely.  Without 
any  reference  to  the  piper's  news  she  went 
straight  to  the  kitchen  and  began  to  bake  a 
batch  of  riddle-cakes.  It  was  the  hardest  work 
she  could  find  to  do,  and  Phemie  watched  her 


142  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

beating  and  kneading  the  dough,  and  passing 
between  the  table  and  the  fire  with  rapid  steps, 
until  from  sheer  physical  exhaustion  she  was 
on  the  verge  of  fainting. 

The  old  woman  knew  well  what  sorrow  was 
forcing  Faith  to  labor.  She  made  a  cup  of 
tea  and  took  it  to  her.  "  Sit  down  a  weer 
Faith,"  she  said  kindly,  "  drink,  dearie  ;  sorrow 
is  gude  for  naething  but  sin." 

"  You  hae  heard  tell,  then,  Phemie  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay.  But  the  vera  warst  may  be  tholed 
when  it  is  sure ;  and  naething  happens  but 
what  is  sent,  or  permitted.  God's  will  be  done  \ 
You  can  say  that  much,  Faith  ?  " 

"  I  would  think  little  o'  myself  if  I  could  not. 
My  ain  will  was  vera  sweet  to  me,  Phemie — if — '* 

"  His  will  is  best." 

"Ay, Surely!     His  will  is  best.'; 

It  is  in  hours  such  as  these,  that  the  full 
grandeur  of  the  old  Covenanting  creed  and 
spirit  reveals  itself.  In  great  sorrows  it  is 
doubtless  a  great  consolation  to  completely 
relinquish  our  will  to  God's  will.  Personal 
fate  and  suffering  is  thus  invested  with  the 
majesty  and  sublimity  of  eternal  purpose  ;  and 
every  day  life  acquires  a  dignity  of  the  loftiest 


FAITH'S  DARK  HOUR.  143 

character.  Faith  bowed  her  head  and  her 
heart  to  the  consolation  it  offered.  Who  was 
she  to  rebel  against  that  which  God  had  per- 
mitted? If  it  were  in  His  purposes,  her  duty 
lay  in  complete  submission  to  Him. 

She  was  greatly  helped  also  in  the  struggle 
before  her  by  her  strict  sense  of  what  was 
right  and  wrong.  Archie  was  now  another 
woman's  husband.  It  was  a  sin  to  think  of 
him  in  any  way.  Anger  was  sin.  Regret  was 
sin.  Above  all,  love  was  sin.  And  she  told 
herself  positively  that  she  would  have  no  right 
to  let  her  disappointment  interfere  in  any  way, 
with  the  duties  entrusted  to  her.  The  care  of 
her  brother,  the  care  of  the  flocks  and  the 
farm,  and  of  the  men  and  women  she  employed. 
She  felt  clearly  that  her  own  private  sorrow 
must  not  shadow  their  days  or  interfere  with 
their  welfare.  We  can  not  choose  our  duties 
any  more  than  we  can  select  our  parents,  or  the 
locality  in  which  we  will  be  born.  There  is  a 
divine  ordering  in  such  matters,  which  Faith 
Solemnly  recognized  and  whose  claims  she  was 
determined  to  satisfy. 

It  was  not  an  easy  discipline,  and  perhaps  at 
first,  the  effect  upon  Faith  was  a  little  repel- 


144  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

lant.  She  was  silent  and  self-contained,  but 
not  offensively  so,  and  her  manners  suited  her, 
as  hardness  suits  steel.  When  sorrow  is  borne 
in  this  spirit,  it  is  like  the  iron-smith,  it  shapes 
as  it  strikes. 

And  very  soon  the  busiest  time  of  the  year 
came  on.  She  had  no  leisure  to  consider  her- 
self in  any  way.  The  dairy  was  full  of  cream. 
Never  had  there  been  so  much  butter  to  make. 
Then  came  the  haymaking,  and  the  shearing, 
and  the  harvest-time,  and  the  weeks  were  filled 
to  the  brim  with  needful  labor. 

Faith  was  soon  happy  again  ;  undoubtedly 
happy.  Other  interests  took  the  place  of  her 
false  lover — the  sheep  were  doubling  on  the 
fells,  the  barley  and  oats  turning  to  gold  in  the 
meadows,  the  fleeces  had  never  been  so  long 
and  fine.  Every  thing  prospered  under  her 
care,  and  Faith  had  a  sufficient  vein  of  Scotch 
acquisitiveness  in  her  nature  to  make  the  fact  a 
very  agreeable  one.  After  the  summer  was 
over  she  went  into  Hawick  and  put  a  large 
sum  of  money  in  the  bank.  It  gave  her  a, 
sense  of  proud  satisfaction,  and  for  the  first 
time,  that  night,  she  spoke  freely  with  Phemie 
of  the  trial  through  which  she  had  passed. 


FAITH'S  DARK  HOUR.  145 

"It  is  over  now,"  she  said,  "  and  far  better 
over  than  I  thought  possible  on  that  morning' 
Will  Cavers  brought  me  the  news." 

"  The  deil  ne'er  found  you  idle,  sae  he  couldnai 
gie  you  a  bad  worrying  spell,  ma'am." 

"  I  heard  Lord  Graeme  had  turned  Renwiclc 
oot  o'  house  and  hame.  I'm  sorry  for  him." 

"  You  might  easy  find  fitter  folks  to  pity.  I 
havena  sorrow  kind  aboot  me  for  him." 

"  If  he  could  keep  away  from  the  whisky ! 
He  would  be  a  braw  man  every  other  way." 

"Tuts  !  If  the  bell  is  cracked  anywhere,  it  is 
useless  everywhere.  If,  if,  if !  There  are  mair 
sad  tales  in  if  than  in  a'  the  books  that  man 
ever  wrote.  I  hae  heard  tell  that  he  is  not 
o'er  kind  to  his  wife.  That  is  mair  than  likely 
for  he's  sae  wavery  that  his  love  changes  like 
the  seasons.  But,  for  that  matter,  there's  nae 
love  but  God's  love  that  is  steady  enou'  to 
lippen  to." 

"  That  is  true ;  likewise  Davie  and  the  farm 
have  been  wonderful  helps.  The  bairn  gets 
closer  to  my  heart  every  day ;  and  the  crops 
and  the  flocks  hae  been  the  dale's  talk.  I 
never  thocht  I  could  hae  got  sae  fond  o'  dumb 
cattle  and  green  fields." 


146  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

"There  is  aye  compensations,  ma'am.  When 
we  canna  get  what  we  love,  we  vera  soon,  if 
we  hae  sense,  learn  to  love  what  we  hae  ;  and 
it's  maist  always  the  best  thing  for  us." 

"  Weel,  I  hae  learned  three  things  this  sum- 
mer, Phemie,  and  I'll  no  need  to  learn  them 
any  mair  for  this  life.  First,  that  there  is  no 
earthly  sorrow  that  endures.  Second,  that 
there  is  nae  earthly  pleasure  like  daily  duty  weel 
wrought.  Third,  that  there  is  nae  earthly 
peace  like,  "  God's  Will  be  Done." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  WAY  ARCHIE  WENT. 

"No  living  lot 

So  poor  but  it  hath  somewhat  still  to  spare 
In  beauteous  odors." 

"  It  never  yet  did  hurt 
To  lay  down  likelihoods  and  and  forms  of  hope." 

IT  was  fortunate  for  Faith  that  during  this 
heart  struggle  she  was  not  in  any  way  em- 
barrassed by  Lord  Graeme's  sympathy  or 
protestations.  Just  before  Renwick's  marriage 
he  went  abroad  with  his  sister.  Miss  Terres 
was  sick  of  some  vague  disorder,  which  puz- 
zled her  physician.  He  could  think  of  noth- 
ing but  change  of  air  and  scene,  and  Lord 
Graeme  thought  it  was  really  the  best  remedy. 
For  he  understood,  what  no  one  else  could  do, 
the  love,  the  shame,  the  chagrin  and  the  dis- 
appointment which  had  sunk  Terres  in  melan- 
choly indifference,  or  made  her  feverish  and 
abnormally  restless. 

His  return  home  had  been  hastened  in  some 
degree  by  dissatisfaction  with  his  factor.     Lan- 


148  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

der  had  fallen  more  and  more  under  the  spell 
of  his  dissipated  son-in-law  ;  and  the  two  men 
were  continually  keeping  each  other  company 
in  some  change-house  or  other  from  Moss- 
kirtle  to  Hawick.  And  Graeme  was  a  strict 
master ;  he  tolerated  neither  idleness  nor  was- 
trie.  His  first  acts  on  his  return  were  to  dis- 
miss the  factor,  and  "  roup  "  the  whole  effects, 
household  and  farming,  appertaining  to  the 
Shepherd's  Bush  farm. 

When  Faith  went  to  Hawick  to  bank  her 
increase,  she  heard  on  every  hand  the  small 
details  of  the  two  transactions,  with  such  com, 
ments  as  the  different  opinions  of  people  sug- 
gested. Generally,  public  sympathy  was  with 
Graeme.  The  surrounding  farmers  and  shep- 
herds had  little  toleration  for  men  who  could 
not  mind  their  business  as  well  as  take  their 
glass ;  and  every  one  admitted  that  Lord 
Graeme  had  been  "  more  than  patient "  with 
Archie  Renwick. 

"  But  the  Renwicks  hae  farmed  Shepherd's 
Bush  for  four  generations,"  said  the  landlady 
of  The  Graeme  Arms  to  Faith;  "and  sae, 
for  the  sake  o'  them  that  were  afore  him,  my 
lord  has  been  vera  forbearing  wi'  the  lad." 


THE    WA  Y  ARCHIE    WENT.  149 

Every  one  had  much  the  same  opinion,  and- 
every  one  was  as  far  from  the  truth  as  people 
usually  are  who  imagine  they  understand  the 
secret  motives  which  interpret  their  neighbor's 
actions.  Lord  Graeme  cared  nothing  at  all  for 
the  dead  Renwicks,  and  he  cordially  hated 
their  living  representative  ;  but  he  was  afraid 
that  if  he  were  severe,  Faith  Harribee  would 
visit  all  Renwick's  losses  on  his  head  and  only 
love  the  idle,  worthless  fellow  the  more  for  his 
faults.  And  rather  than  give  Renwick  that 
advantage  he  had  borne  silently  the  slow  but 
certain  deterioration  of  the  property  which  he. 
held  in  bond  for  his  legal  dues. 

But  when  he  heard  the  particulars  of 
Archie's  marriage  his  anger  blazed  with  a  fury 
that  terrified  Lander.  In  spite  of  his  fierce, 
joy  in  Faith's  freedom,  he  felt  an  equally  fierce 
wrath  at  the  boor  who  had  presumed  to 
despise  the  love  of  a  woman  so  incomparably 
his  superior.  In  his  eyes  no  punishment  was 
adequately  severe  enough  for  such  a  fool.  It 
gave  him  a  real  joy  to  seize  every  cow,  and 
calf,  and  sheep,  and  horse  upon  the  place,  and 
to  put  household  goods  and  farming  tools  alike 
under  the  hammer.  The  first  good  nigh*  'a 


15°  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

sleep  that  came  to  him  after  his  return  was  the 
night  on  which  he  told  himself  confidently 
that  neither  Renwick  nor  Lander  had  any 
home  in  which  to  lay  their  heads. 

Yet,  though  he  so  passionately  admired 
Faith,  so  little  did  he  understand  her  that  he 
believed  in  thus  punishing  those  who  had  pre- 
sumed to  offer  her  a  slight,  he  had  done  that 
which  would  give  her  pleasure.  And  though 
he  would  have  scorned  to  boast  of  his  quick 
retribution,  he  knew  that  Faith  would  hear  of 
it,  and  hoped  she,  at  least,  would  appreciate 
the  love  so  ready  to  perceive  and  to  repay  the 
Avrong  she  had  been  compelled  to  bear. 

:In  reality  Faith  thought  little  about  it.  She 
~\vas  occupied  with  a  much  more  important 
affair  ;  for  she  was  resolved  now  to  take  Davie 
to  London,  and  the  journey  was  a  very  serious 
undertaking  to  her.  Her  heart  trembled  at 
the  prospect;  she  was  full  of  doubts  and  fears, 
.and  yet  driven  by  a  sense  of  obligation  she 
•could  not  put  away. 

"  Dinna  go,  ma'am,"  said  Phemie,  as  she 
watched  Faith  looking  with  a  troubled  face  at 
the  corded  box  ready  for  the  morning's  coach. 

"I'm   no    to  mind  my  ain  feelings  in  this 


THE    WAY  ARCHIE    WENT.  i$l 

matter,  Phemie.  You  ken  what  I  promised 
fayther.  A  promise  to  the  living  may  be  broken, 
but  a  promise  to  the  dead,  dool  and  sorrow  on 
those  who  dare  to  break  it !  Yet  I  hae  a  sair 
misgiving  anent  Davie,  and  I  hae  had  dreams 
one  mair  fearsome  than  anither;  but  toots! 
why  will  I  be  fashing  myself  about  dreams? 
They  are  just  havers !  " 

"  Deed  ma'am,  some  folk  hae  mair  sense 
dreaming  than  waking.  I  think  little  o*  folk 
that  dinna  dream.  I  think  little  o'  sleep  that 
is  just  a  dozing  and  a  snoring  o'  pure  matter.  If 
you  hae  been  warned  o'  aught,  dinna  be  sae  wise 
in  your  ain  conceit  as  to  neglect  the  warning." 

"  I'll  hae  to  go,  Phemie.  I  tried  to  make 
Davie  understand,  and  I  think  it  is  his  will  like- 
wise. I'm  feared  o'  myself.  Maybe  it  is  the 
siller  pulling  at  my  wish  and  will.  I  canna  be 
wrang  if  I  gae  the  way  my  fayther  bade  me.  I 
canna  be  wrang  in  keeping  the  promise  I  made 
him." 

So  next  morning  a  hurried  breakfast  was 
taken  at  candlelight,  and  Faith  and  Davie  rode 
over  the  moor  in  the  misty  dawning  to  catch 
the  London  coach  at  Mosskirtle.  The  little  lad 
was  delighted  with  the  journey.  It  was  taken 


152  A    BORDER   SHEPERDESS. 

easily  for  his  sake,  but  at  the  end  of  the  third 
day  Faith  reached  the  hotel  on  the  Strand 
which  she  had  been  advised  to  seek.  Her  pre- 
parations had  been  so  carefully  perfected  that 
she  had  little  difficulty  or  delay  in  securing  the 
consultation  of  the  three  great  physicians  and 
surgeons,  to  whom  she  had  decided  to  submit 
Davie's  case. 

He  went  into  their  presence  a  little  afraid, 
but  regarding  each  of  them  with  wide  open 
wonderingeyes,  as  if  hewerecurious  about  them. 
They  were  pitiful  and  gentle  to  the  boy,  but 
their  decision  was  unanimously  hopeless. 
Nothing  could  be  done  for  him  mentally,  and 
with  grave  earnestness  they  pointed  out  to 
Faith  his  rapid  growth  and  the  hectic  flush 
and  fever  which  made  other  conditions  physi- 
cally dangerous.  "  A  warm  climate  may  pro- 
long, or  perhaps  preserve  his  life,  but  in  the 
bleak  border  uplands  he  will  need  the  greatest 
care.  A  simple  cold  may  be  a  fatal  thing  for 
him." 

Such  was  the  verdict,  and  it  was  one  which 
gave  a  shock  to  Faith.  She  had  noticed  that 
Davie  lately  had  been  unable  to  keep  step  with 
her  in  climbing,  but  she  had  attributed  the  want 


THE    WA  Y  ARCHIE    WENT.  153 

of  power  to  his  sudden  and  rapid  growth.  Con- 
sumption had  never  been  in  their  family.  It 
was  the  very  last  disease  she  thought  of  for  a 
Harribee.  But  the  danger  must  be  averted  ; 
yes,  though  she  left  the  farm  in  Phemie's  care, 
and  took  him  herself  to  the  island  which  the 
doctors  had  named. 

But  the  circumstances  surrounding  such  a 
change  were  very  painful  to  her.  Faith  had 
the  home  instinct  in  a  very  strong  degree.  She 
had  the  money-making  faculty  equally  strong. 
She  felt  keenly  that  her  full  duty  to  Davie 
might  bring  to  her  many  great  trials,  and  much 
self-renunciation.  On  the  last  day  of  their 
return  journey  Davie  was  very  restless  and  fret- 
ful. He  was  tired,  he  said,  and  his  head 
ached.  In  an  uneasy,  tossing  fashion,  he  slept 
most  of  the  time.  Before  he  reached  Moss- 
kirtle  he  complained  of  a  sore  throat  and  was 
so  feverish  that  Faith  left  word  for  the  village 
doctor  to  follow  her  as  soon  as  possible  to 
Harribee. 

About  ten  o'clock  at  night  he  arrived,  and 
Faith  and  Phemie  were  sitting  anxiously  by  the 
child's  side  who  had  become  delirious.  It  was 
a  bad  case  of  scarlet  fever  and  from  the  first 


154  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

hour  of  its  recognition,  there  was  not  a  hope. 
He  lingered  five  days  but  recovered  his  con. 
sciousness  only  in  that  heavenly  land  where  he 
recovered  all  else  that  he  had  lost. 

Faith  suffered  as  mothers  suffer.  She  awoke 
in  the  night  with  his  name  on  her  lips.  It 
broke  her  heart  afresh  every  time  she  had  to 
bar  the  door  at  night,  and  leave  her  darling  in 
his  cold  bed  on  the  fell  side.  She  was  constantly 
coming  upon  some  trifle  that  had  been  so  pre- 
cious to  him — a  faded  picture — a  ball — a  broken 
pen-knife.  Alas !  how  such  things  smote  her 
with  memories  that  made  her  clasp  the  poor 
memento  in  her  hands,  weeping  and  praying 
over  it. 

It  was  while  the  child  lay  in  his  coffin,  Terres 
Graeme  came  again  to  Harribee.  She  looked 
much  older.  She  had  taken  one  of  those  steps 
which  in  mid-life  carry  us  beyond  a  boundary 
we  may  not  recross.  No  health,  no  dress,  no 
gayety  of  manner  would  ever  replace  that  some- 
thing of  youth,  intangible  but  certain,  which 
had  disappeared  in  the  months  intervening 
between  her  visits. 

Her  hands  were  full  of  flowers,  and  she  went 
with  Faith  to  scatter  them  over  the  white  grave- 


THE    WA  Y  ARCHIE    WENT.  155 

clothes  of  the  dead  boy.  With  dark,  sad  eyes 
she  stood  gazing  at  the  image  of  rest  before 
her,  until  some  large  tears  rolled  slowly  down 
her  face.  She  wiped  them  hastily,  and  touch- 
ing the  small  hands  unsoiled  by  sinful  deeds, 
she  turned  away,  murmuring: 

"  No  grief  reaches  the  dead  !  How  happy 
he  must  be  !  " 

About  a  week  after  the  funeral  Lord  Graeme 
rode  up  to  the  farm  door,  and  asked  the  servant 
who  came  to  meet  him,  if  Miss  Harribee  were 
at  home.  He  was  shown  into  the  house-place, 
and  his  eyes  delighted  themselves  with  the 
homelike  beauty  and  spotlessness  of  the  dwell- 
ing which  sheltered  so  lovely  a  soul.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  came  to  him.  Never  had  she 
appeared  so  gentle  and  so  womanly.  Her  black 
dress  and  lawn  kerchief  made  the  fittest  setting 
for  beauty  so  noble  and  so  soulful. 

"  Faith  !  Faith  !  "  He  took  her  hands,  but 
the  two  words  were  all  that  he  could  say.  And 
Faith  was  much  troubled.  She  could  not 
but  remember  how  much  had  passed  since 
they  had  met.  Her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  His  own  were  dim  because  of  her  sor- 
row. 


156  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

"  He  has  gone  to  the  Great  Physician,"  she 
said  softly,  "  he'll  be  sick  nae  mair  now." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  Faith." 

"  Ay,  for  me.  But  there's  joy  for  Davie. 
And  fayther  and  mother  will  be  sharing  it. 
Yet  he  was  vera  dear  to  me  !  Vera,  vera  dear 
to  me  !  Oh,  Davie  !  Davie  !  " 

"  Faith,  you  are  lonely  here.  All  are  gone 
that  ever  loved  you.  Only  I  remain.  Can  you 
not  listen  to  me  now  ?  " 

"  There  is  nae  thocht  o'  love  in  my  heart. 
And  it  isna  kind  o'  you  to  be  coming  here  at  a' 
lord.  Folks  will  make  ill  talk  anent  it." 

"  You  have  some  sheep  advertised  for  sale. 
I  always  bought  your  father's  yearlings.  Can 
I  not  do  some  honest  trading  with  you — you 
who  are  so  well-known  ?  " 

"  You  dinna  ken  what  village  kimmers  are  ; 
they  will  see  wrang  where  nae  wrang  is." 

"  If  they  could  slander  you,  they  would 
slander  an  angel  from  heaven." 

"  Plenty  o'  folks  would  see  faults  in  an  angel : 
— what  for  no  ?  They  said  that  Christ  was  a 
wine-bibber,  and  that  he  sorted  himself  with 
publicans  and  sinners.  I'm  feared  for  women's 
tongues.  I  am  that.  And  sae  Lord  Graeme, 


THE    WAY  ARCHIE   WENT.  157 

if  you  like  me,  as  you  say  you  do,  you'll 
like  my  fair  name,  and  gie  nane  occasion  to 
speak  o'  me  at  all." 

She  had  remained  standing,  and  she  now 
offered  her  hand.  There  is  a  certain  physiogno- 
my in  manners,  and  he  understood  that  he  was 
kindly  but  positively  dismissed.  Yet  he  did 
not  lose  courage.  Hope  says  to  us  continually 
"  go  on,  go  on,"  and  thus  leads  us  bravely  and 
cheerfully  to  the  grave. 

What  was  Faith  to  do  with  her  life  now  ? 
Lord  Graeme  had  said,  truly  enough,  she  was 
alone.  No  further  intelligence  had  come  from 
Agnes.  Renwick's  assertion  that  she  was  living 
among  play-actors,  Faith  refused  to  believe. 
She  could  not  look  at  the  calm,  lovely,  love- 
some  face  above  her  hearth,  and  think  of  its 
reality  as  one  of  those,  whom  in  her  soul  she 
believed  to  be  the  "  maist  senseless  and  thocht- 
less  of  a'  the  children  o'  Satan." 

Phemie  also  was  inclined  to  think  better  of 
Agnes  than  such  associates  inferred.  She  was 
sure  "  it  was  ane  o'  Lander's  lies.  He  wanted 
Archie  for  his  ain  lass,  and  he  didna  spare  his 
tongue  to  get  him.  Weel,  he  didna  get  much!  " 
she  added,  scornfully. 


158  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"  I  might  ask  Lord  Graeme  if  the  report  were 
true.  He  surely  knows  what  his  nephew  is 
doing." 

"Ay,  you  might  ask,  but  you  would  be  a 
born  fool  if  you  do.  Why  go  a-seekingill  news? 
If  oor  Agnes  is  wrang,  she'll  hae  to  be  brought 
right,  and  God  kens  best  the  means  and  the 
way.  That  is  His  work.  If  you  think  much  o' 
His  grace,  and  little  o'  your  ain  wisdom,  you'll 
no  meddle  wi'  His  wark." 

For  a  year  or  two  there  was  danger  that 
Faith  would  give  herself  up  to  simple  money, 
making.  Her  father  had  been  a  very  '  close  ' 
man,  and  Faith's  nature  was  strongly  bent  the 
same  way.  It  was  known  that  she  had  bought 
four  meadows  adjoining  her  own,  and  that  she 
had  made  Lord  Graeme  an  offer  for  the  very 
farm  Archie  Renwick  had  once  rented. 

All  these  things  were  vinegar  and  gall  to  the 
silly  man  who  had  so  readily  flung  away  the 
love  and  land  of  such  a  woman.  If  he  only 
could  have  foreseen  Davie's  early  death  !  If 
he  had  only  had  any  inkling  of  the  large  sum 
of  ready  money  there  must  have  been  lying  in 
Hawick  bank  !  He  found  himself  perpetually 
trying  to  calculate  what  the  London  visit  must 


THE    WA  Y  ARCHIE    WENT.  159 

have  cost,  and  the  funeral,  and  the  four  mead- 
ows. And  they  could  only  have  been  slices  of 
the  golden  cake  ;  the  offer  for  Shepherd's  Bush 
presupposed  a  handsome  capital  for  stocking 
and  working  the  land. 

These  thoughts  kept  Renwick  in  a  constant 
state  of  irritation.  Every  month  since  his  mar- 
riage he  had  slipped  lower  and  lower,  and  he 
was  now  dependent  in  a  great  measure  on  his 
wife's  skill  as  a  dressmaker.  The  poor  woman 
worked  hard  for  small  thanks.  When  Archie 
was  drunk  he  openly  regretted  his  folly  ;  and 
Archie  was  very  often  drunk.  He  never  had  a 
penny,  but  he  had  two-pence  worth  of  thirst 
with  it ;  and  over  his  whisky  he  cursed  his  ill 
luck. 

"  Some  one,"  he  said,  "  has  aye  stood  be- 
tween me  and  gude  fortune — a  silly  lad, 
and  then  a  silly  lass — dang  the  baith  o* 
them ! " 

Faith  heard  how  things  were  going  with  him. 
No  one  came  to  Harribee  to  buy  butter  or  eggs, 
but  they  had  a  story  to  tell  of  Renwick.  They 
thought  it  would  please  Faith  to  hear  of  his 
down  come,  and  she  was  sorry  that  they  thought 
so  badly  of  her.  She  held  her  peace  on  the 


160  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

subject,  even  from  good,  and  neither  blamed 
nor  pitied  him.  "  Under  no  circumstances," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  will  I  interfere  in  his  life 
again,  either  by  word  or  deed." 

But  how  little  do  we  know  of  the  future  ! 
Five  years  after  Archie's  marriage,  there  was 
one  of  those  epidemics  of  fever  which  fifty 
years  ago  frequently  devastated  Scotch  villages. 
We  call  them  preventable  fevers  now,  but  at 
that  day,  and  much  later,  they  were  undoubt- 
ingly  laid  to  the  charge  of  a  merciful  God. 
Mosskirtle  suffered  in  nearly  all  its  households. 
In  this  season  of  trouble  and  poverty,  Faith 
was  the  mainstay  of  the  village.  Her  scrupu- 
lously clean  house  upon  its  breezy  height 
escaped,  as  it  had  always  done ;  and  when  the 
fever  had  run  its  course  there  were  five  orphan 
boys  and  girls  at  Harribee  Home.  They  had 
been  ill,  too,  and  Faith  had  brought  them  there 
for  pure  air,  and  good  food. 

Then  there  was  a  fresh  outbreak  in  a  valley 
settlement  a  mile  from  the  village,  and  Archie 
Renwick  and  his  wife  were  among  the  stricken. 
The  news  came  to  Faith  in  that  casual  way 
which,  in  spite  of  its  commonplace  atmosphere, 
is  often  striking  and  dramatic.  Her  head  shep- 


THE    WAY  ARCHIE    WENT.  161 

herd  came  into  the  outer  kitchen  where  she  was 
directing  the  churning,  and  said : 

"  Annie  and  Archie  Renwick  hae  the  fever. 
They  are  baith  oot  o'  their  senses ;  and  there  is 
neither  bite  nor  sup  in  their  house."  Then 
he  lifted  the  wooden  pail  for  which  he 
had  come,  and  went  out  without  another 
word. 

Neither  did  Faith  make  any  remark.  Yet 
every  word  had  fallen  with  a  strange  distinct- 
ness upon  her  ear  and  heart.  As  she  stood  still 
and  silent  among  the  churning-women,  she  was 
considering  what  she  ought  to  do — for  in  this 
world,  even  the  best  of  motives  need  consid- 
eration, and  the  best  of  actions  need  some 
charity. 

"  '  Out  of  their  senses,  and  not  a  bite  or  sup 
in  the  house  ! '  Surely  I  didna  get  that  mes- 
sage for  nae.thing — whatever  folk  say,  I  must  do 
the  thing  I  ought  to  do." 

For  her  duty  was  clear  to  her,  though  it  was 
a  very  painful  one.  She  called  Phemie  and 
told  her  what  she  had  heard,  and  what  she 
intended  to  do ;  and  the  old  woman  answered, 
"you  will  tak'  your  own  way,  Faith.  You  will 
get  trouble  and  ware  gude  siller,  and  at  the  end, 


162  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

you  will  find  that  doing  a  kindness  to  ill  folk  is 
like  throwing  water  in  the  sea." 

"  Ay  weel,  Phemie,  we  must  keep  mind  o* 
Christ ;  he  did  good  to  the  evil  and  the  un- 
thankfuV 

"  Even  sae.  But  he  was  Christ ;  and  you  are 
just  Faith  Harribee.  I'm  never  against  you 
helping  the  Lord's  ain,  and  the  little  children 
that  ken  neither  right  nor  wrang,  but  if  I  was 
a  vera  saint — which  the  Searcher  o'  Hearts  kens 
I'm  far  from  thinking  mysel — I  wouldna  lift  a 
feather  weight  o'  His  displeasure  from  Archie 
Renwick.  It's  gude  and  right  for  the  sinner  to 
feel  the  hand  o'  the  smiter ;  and  I  hae  seen  folk 
get  a  part  o'  the  trouble  they  were  o'er  keen  to 
ward  aff  from  whar  it  was  sent.  Sae,  you 
needna  be  asking  me  to  do  this  or  that  for 
Renwick.  I'm  no  caring  to  bear  any  share  o'  his 
punishment." 

"  I  think  it  is  my  duty  to  help  the  Renwicks, 
Phemie,  and  I  shall  do  so." 

"  To  be  sure  you  will.  I  kent  that  at  the  first 
sough  o'  your  duty.  Folks  mistak'  their  will 
for  their  duty,  whiles." 

Then  Phemie  went  off  to  the  churning,  and 
Faith  went  for  the  doctor,  and  the  old  woman 


THE    WA  Y  ARCHIE    WENT.  163 

who  had  helped  her  in  previous  cases;  and  she 
took  with  her  in  her  tax-cart,  whatever  she 
thought  was  needful.  But  she  did  not  remain 
herself.  She  reflected  that  when  Archie  and 
Annie  became  conscious,  it  would  doubtless  be 
very  painful  for  them  to  see  her. 

One  morning,  however,  when  they  were  nearly 
well,  she  went  purposely  to  visit  them ;  and 
purposely  also,  she  avoided  any  display  of  the 
prosperity  that  had  so  steadily  followed  her. 
In  the  plain  winsey  dress  and  plaid  which  she 
wore  when  on  the  fells  among  the  sheep,  she 
entered  Archie's  small  cottage.  It  was  a  poor, 
a  pitifully  poor  place,  nearly  destitute  of  furni- 
ture, quite  destitute  of  every  comfort. 

Archie  sat  cowering  over  a  few  smouldering 
peats.  Annie's  arms  were  across  the  bare  table, 
and  her  pale,  wasted  face  was  buried  in  them. 
"  Faith ! "  said  Archie,  coloring  painfully  and 
stumbling  to  his  feet — "  Faith  !  Faith  ! — Miss 
Harribee." 

"  Gude  morning,  Annie.  Gude  morning, 
Archie.  I  am  come  to  see  you  as  a  sister 
might  come.  I  hae  heard  how  ill  you  hae  been, 
and  what  trouble  of  a'  kinds  you  hae  come 
through,  and  I  want  to  help  you — if  you'll  let 


1 64  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

me  " — and  then  she  drew  a  chair  to  Annie's 
side,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the  poor  woman's 
knee. 

Archie  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  smoking 
peats,  Annie  cried  softly  and  clasped  Faith's 
hand.  "You  hae  worn  out 'your  chance  here, 
Archie,  but  there  are  braw  lands  beyond  the 
sea,  and  braw  chances  in  them  for  a  lad  like 
you.  You  will  do  fine  yet.  I  know  you  will. 
Sae,  I  hae  brought  wi'  me  two  hundred  pounds. 
If  you  will  tak'  the  loan  o'  it,  and  just  begin 
life  o'er  again  in  a  new  world,  you  will  make 
me  a  very  happy  woman.  Look  up,  Renwick ! 
You  used  to  hae  a  brave  heart.  Will  you 
tak'  your  bonnie  wife  and  go  to  America  ? 
You'll  win  back  a'  you  hae  lost,  and  mair 
beside." 

"  Oh,  Archie,  say  you'll  gae  !  Archie,  we'll 
be  happy  and  weel-to-do  yet !  "  and  the  poor 
woman  went  to  his  side,  and  whispered  en- 
treaties into  his  ear. 

"  It's  a  sair  downcome  tome,  Faith.  I  ne'er 
thocht  to  tak'  your  charity,  lass." 

"  Dinna  pain  me  by  talking  sae  foolish-like, 
Archie.  It  is  only  a  loan  I  am  offering  you. 
When  you  can  weel  spare  it,  I'll  no  refuse  to 


THE    WA  Y  ARCHIE    WENT.  165 

tak'  it  back  again.  Annie,  tak'  the  silver,  my 
dear  lass  !  I'll  leave  it  wi'  you." 

"  Na,  na ;  I'll  tak'  it  from  your  ain  hand, 
Faith.  It  is  luck,  silver  from  your  hand.  And 
wi'  God's  help  it  will  mak'  a  new  man  o'  me." 

"  Thank  you,  Archie." 

She  offered  him  her  hand,  and  with  a  shamed- 
faced  reluctance  he  took  it.  Then  some  con- 
versation followed,  in  which  it  was  decided 
that  Archie  should  start  at  once  for  Liverpool 
and  make  all  necessary  investigations. 

"  For  the  sea  voyage  will  do  you  baith  a 
world  o'  gude  after  the  fever,"  said  Faith,"  and 
while  you  are  awa,  Archie,  I'll  take  Annie  to 
Harribee  wi'  me. 

In  about  a  week,  there  was  a  very  sanguine 
letter  from  Archie.  He  had  fallen  in  with  some 
men  from  Ohio.  He  had  listened  with  wonder 
to  their  descriptions  of  western  life.  He  was 
certain  that  he  had  found  the  very  place 
suitable  for  the  new  opportunity  he  was  to 
have. 

And  Faith — though  her  heart  was  pained  by 
the  selfish  complacency  of  the  letter — encour- 
aged and  strengthened  Annie  at  every  point 
for  the  strange  experiences  she  was  likely  to 


1 66  A  BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

meet  with.  Above  all,  she  filled  two  boxes 
from  her  own  abundant  stores  of  linen  and 
winsey;  and  sent  her  away  to  her  new  life, 
full-handed,  happy,  and  hopeful." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   HOUR  WILL  COME. 

"  The  only  way  in  this  world  to  get  peace  is  to  make  it  out  of 
pain." 

"  The  trifles  of  our  daily  lives, 

The  common  things  scarce  worth  recall. 
Whereof  no  visible  trace  survives, 
These  are  the  mainsprings  after  all." 

r|^HOSE  who  have  ever  spent  a  day  in  the 
1  Border  uplands,  when  there  has  been 
"  clear  shining  after  rain,"  can  never  forget  the 
ineffable  sense  of  freshness  and  purity,  of  some 
rarer  and  diviner  atmosphere,  of  some  nearer 
intelligence  with  nature  that  was  its  special 
attribute.  Faith  Harribee  had  been  familiar 
with  the  condition  all  her  conscious  life,  yet 
every  such  day  was  a  fresh  revelation  to  her. 
She  had  never  heard  the  jargon  of  the  present 
generation  about  nature  and  fine  scenery; 
Wordsworth  was  not  even  a  name  to  her,  but 
she  had  David's  glowing  words  in  her  heart, 
and  she  needed  no  better  interpreter. 

She. had  felt  "the  wings  of  the  morning  "  in 


168  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

the  fresh  winnowing  winds.  She  had  seen  ol<f 
earth  laugh  with  the-incalculable  laughter  of  a 
spring-day,  until  she  understood  how  Israel's 
singer  said,  "  the  hills  clapped  their  hands  with 
joy."  She  knew  too,  how  he  had  felt  when  he 
sang  of  the  marching  cattle  and  sheep  upon  a 
thousand  hills  ;  and  she  was  recalling  this  very 
passage  one  exquisite  morning  in  June,  as  she 
stood  upon  The  Preacher's  Stone,  and  looked 
down  and  away,  over  the  billowy  hills  where 
the  great  flocks  of  ewes  and  lambs  were  feeding. 

There  was  a  fresh,  merry  wind,  and  she 
watched  it  blowing  little  white  hollows  in  the 
dun  fleeces  of  the  cheep.  It  fluttered  her  own 
dress,  and  got  into  the  nooks  of  her  plaid,  and 
blew  backward  her  gipsy  bonnet ;  and  she 
stood  there,  as  glad  in  it,  as  if  she  were  some 
young  tree  feeling  the  joyful  presence  in  all 
its  branches. 

It  was  seldom  she  climbed  as  high  as  the 
Preacher's  Stone.  There,  she  was  in  one  of 
earth's  sweet  unplanted  places,  and  knee-deep 
in  brackens  she  stood.  It  was  mainly  her  own 
land  she  overlooked.  The  flocks  and  cattle 
upon  it  were  her  own.  The  ripening  grain 
was  hers,  and  the  long  meadow  grass.  In  the 


THE  HOUR    WILL   COME.  169 

hollow,  far  down,  she  could  see  the  gray  walls 
of  Harribee,  standing  amid  a  blowing  drift  of 
white  fruit  blossoms.  Oh  how  beautiful !  how 
happy  !  how  wealthy  !  was  the  whole  fair  pic- 
ture. "  The  earth  is  full  o*  the  goodness  o' 
the  Lord,"  She  said  the  words  with  all  her 
soul,  and  the  wind  carried  them  joyfully  with 
it,  through  space. 

She  was  about  to  descend,  when  she  heard  a 
rustling  behind  her,  and  with  a  rush  and  a 
bound  two  fine  dogs  came  dashing  through  the 
long  brackens.  She  spoke  to  them,  and  they  ran 
to  her  side,  suffering  her  caresses,  but  looking 
restlessly  behind  them,  until  in  a  few  moments 
Terres  Graeme  appeared.  Then  with  quick 
barks  of  joy  they  ran  backward  to  meet  her. 

She  was  looking  extremely  handsome  in  a 
short  dark  dress  of  fine  merino,  and  a  black 
satin  scarf  across  her  shoulders.  The  wind 
had  given  her  cheeks  a  color  which  it  was  a 
joy  to  see,  and  the  walk  a  brilliancy  to  her 
eyes  which  made  them  singularly  attractive. 

"Why,  Faith  Harribee  !  "  she  cried,  "what  a 
pleasure  to  meet  you  up  here  !  I  thought  I 
had  the  world  to  myself  up  at  this  height." 

"I  was  beguiled  wi'  the  fine  air:  climbing  is 


17°  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

easy  this  morning,  and  whiles  I  like  to  come 
up  here.  I  can  see  things  no  to  be  seen  in 
any  other  place,  I  think." 

"  You  see  your  own  share  of  earth  all  to- 
gether — house  and  land,  and  flocks." 

"  That  is  a  vera  pleasant  sight,  but  I  hope 
I  see  mair  than  that.  From  where  we  are 
now,  I  can  look  back  twa  hundred  years,  and 
see  Richard  Cameron  standing  here,  and  a' 
around  him,  the  hill-sides  thick  wi'  men  and 
women  listening  to  the  word  they  had  ne'er 
heard  before." 

"  Oh  but  there  were  plenty  of  chapels  all 
through  the  dales." 

"  Papist  chapels  ?  Yes,  and  the  service  o* 
them  in  Latin,  and  the  priest  as  fond  o'  '  rid- 
ing' as  any  riever  in  their  congregation,  and  the 
hale  thing  just  a  farce  o'  religion.  Hundreds 
stood  around,  and  below  this  stone  that  kent 
nae  mair  anent  Calvary  and  the  great  sacri- 
fice, than  they  kent  anent  the  Druids  and 
their  rings  o'  standing  stones.  I  like  to  think 
o'  that  great  preacher  telling  the  wonderfu* 
news  to  the  rough  men  booted  and  spurred 
wha  stood  near  by  him.  He  must  hae  told  the 
story  weel  to  make  them  give  up  the  things 


THE  HOUR    WILL   COME.  ijl 

that  were  not  only  their  hale  living,  but 
their  greatest  pleasure.  My  fayther  had  a 
picture  o'  him ;  a  big  man  in  a  black  gown  wi' 
a  face  that  folks  be  to  mind.  He  preached 
righteousness  to  them  and  they  lifted  nae  mair 
cattle,  and  went  nae  mair  raiding  over  the  bor- 
der. He  gied  them  the  bible  in  a  life-like 
tongue,  and  the  swords  that  had  been  sharp 
against  decent  farming  men,  holding  their  ain, 
he  turned  against  the  enemies  o'  the  Lord,  and 
the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant." 
"  He  must  have  been  a  great  man." 
"  Ay,  and  he  slept  in  caves,  and  preached  on 
the  bleak  hill-sides  to  the  brave  border  folks  ; 
sae  then,  he  was  a  true  brother  o'  Him  wha 
had  not  whar  to  lay  his  head." 

They  stood  for  a  few  moments  in  silence, 
then  Terres  said,  "  I  see  some  children  among 
the  sheep." 

"  Ay,  they  are  Ral  and  Tim  Gibson,  and 
Janet  Maxwell.  Their  faythers  and  mothers 
died  in  the  fever  ;  and  they  too  came  vera  near 
dying.  But  they  are  braw  and  strong  now,  and 
doing  weel." 

"  You  took  two  other  girls  also  ?  " 

"  The  widow  Lariston's  gir-ls,     Puir  things  f 


172  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

They  had  a  sair  tussle  back  to  life  again  ;  but 
they  are  like  to  get  the  upper  hand  o'  their 
sickness  now." 

"  Have  you  adopted  them,  Faith  ?  My 
brother  heard  so,  and  he  thought  it  was  so 
noble-hearted  of  you." 

"Adopted  them  !  Na,  na.  What  for  would 
I  adopt  them  ?  The  Harribees  arena  noble, 
like  the  Graemes,  but  they  hae  a  gude  back 
count,  and  they  hae  been  aye  their  own  land- 
lords ;  weel-born,  and  weel-to-do,  under  bidding 
to  no  man.  These  lads  and  lasses  are  cotter's 
bairns.  I  couldna  mak'  gentle  folks  o'  them, 
even  if  I  wanted  to  do  sae  foolish  a  thing,  and 
I'll  no  spoil  gude  working  men  and  women. 
There  is  plenty  in  Harribee  to  gie  them  shel- 
ter and  food,  and  clothes  suitable,  and  I  sail 
see  that  the  lads  are  made  gude  farmers  or 
shepherds,  and  the  lasses  gude  housewives  and 
spinners.  Forbye  they  sail  a'  learn  how  to 
read  their  bible,  and  write  a  letter,  and  cast 
their  ain  bit  'counts.  That  is  the  hale  o'  my 
plan  for  them.  What  for  would  I  be  adopting 
bairns  of  whose  forbears  I  ken  naething  ?  The 
Harribees  are  fine  old  stock  ;  I'm  no  the  woman 
to  risk  poorer  grafts  on  it." 


THE  HOUR    WILL    COME.  1 73 

"  You  are  wise,  and  kind,  both  ;  besides — if 
you  will  allow  me  to  name  the  subject — you 
have  a  sister  and  she  may  have  children.  I  feel 
some  interest  in  her  rights,  seeing  that  she 
married  into  my  family." 

"  You  hae  touched  a  subject  that  is  never  far 
awa'  from  my  ain  thochts.  I  would  to  God 
I  knew  whar  my  bonnie  Agnes  is !  If  I  had 
any  hope  of  finding  her  in  London,  I  would  go 
and  seek  her,  and  bring  her  to  her  ain  home 
again." 

"  If  she  would  come.  You  must  take  that 
into  your  thoughts  also,  Faith.  For  my  own 
part,  I  do  not  think  she  would." 

Faith  looked  anxiously  into  Miss  Graeme's 
face.  "  What  do  you  ken  anent  her  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  You  be  to  speak  plainly  now." 

They  had  begun  to  walk  slowly  down  the 
fell,  and  Terres  took  advantage  of  the  rough 
road  to  delay  her  answer.  But  when  she  spoke, 
it  was  with  a  decision  that  left  no  doubt  be- 
hind it. 

"  I  know  nothing  what  ever  of  Agnes  Graeme. 
I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  of  Roland  Graeme. 
He  is  the  natural  son  of  my  eldest  brother,  WiU 
Ham.  William  was  engaged  to  marry  Lady 


174  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

Ann  Lenox.  He  was  to  marry  her  at  Christ- 
mas ;  he  went  abroad  in  the  summer,  and  he 
never  came  home  again.  Shortly  before  Christ- 
mas he  wrote  to  me,  declaring  he  could  not 
keep  his  troth  to  Lady  Ann,  and  asking  me  to 
give  her  a  letter  which  he  inclosed. 

"  But  he  must  hae  had  a  gude  reason  ?  " 
"  He  had  become  infatuated  with  an  Italian 
singer  and  actress.  He  refused  to  give  her  up  ; 
yet  he  was  well  aware  that  the  brothers  Lenox 
would  hold  him  to  account  for  their  sister's 
wrong.  So  he  vanished  from  life  as  far 
as  we  are  concerned,  with  the  woman  he  had 
chosen.  For  ten  years  we  heard  nothing  of 
him,  excepting  an  assurance  from  his  lawyer  at 
intervals  that  he  was  well  and  contented.  Then 
one  day,  Tilbert  got  a  letter.  It  was  dated 
•from  an  obscure  Greek  town.  William  said 
he  was  ill,  and  he  urged  his  brother  not  to  lose 
a  moment  in"  coming  to  him.  But  though  he 
hasted"  night  and  day,  he  was  too  late.  Wil- 
liam was  dead.  Roland's  mother  had  been 
dead  a  year,  and  the  house  and  effects  were  in 
charge  of  a  very  honest  old  priest.  He  had 
taken  good  care  of  Roland  also,  and  he  gave 
up  with  him  all  the  papers  and  personal  prop* 


THE  HOUR    WILL   COME.  175 

erty  of  his  father.  Many  people  would  have 
left  the  boy  where  he  was." 

"  Oh,  that  would  have  been  cruel !  " 

"  Lord  Graeme  thought  so.  He  brought  him 
on  to  Castle  Graeme.  He  invested  every  shil- 
ling that  his  father's  personal  effects  realized, 
for  him.  He  gave  him  a  good  education,  and 
if  Roland  had  taken  his  advice  and  gone  into 
the  army,  it  would  always  have  been  possible 
for  us  to  have  given  him  a  certain  degree  of 
countenance  and  help.  For  he  is  a  Graeme, 
though  on  the  sinister  side  of  the  escutcheon; 
and  I  was  rather  fond  of  the  lad.  He  had  no 
need  to  run  away  with  Agnes  Harribee.  We 
thought  the  marriage  a  very  suitable  one  for 
him." 

"  But  my  fayther  was  dead  set  against  it.  I 
never  in  a*  my  life  saw  fayther  sae  dour  and 
set  anent  any  thing.  Agnes  kent  he  would 
never  forgive  her,  living  or  dying,  and  she  ne'er 
sought  his  favor — puir  lass!  puirbonnie  lass!  " 

"  We  have  only  heard  of  Roland  once  since 
he  left  us,  and  that  in  a  casual  and  unexpected 
way.  My  brother  went  one  night  to  a  fine  theater 
in  London,  and  he  was  singing  and  acting.  He 
said  Roland  certainly  did  both  in  a  most 


176  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

wonderful  way,  and  the  court  and  the  city 
were  all  wild  about  him.  After  the  perform- 
ance was  over,  Tilbert  waited  to  speak  to  him. 
He  would  not  see  his  uncle's  offered  hand,  and 
when  he  called  him  Graeme,  he  answered,  '  You 
mistake  me,  sir,  I  have  abandoned  the  name,  and 
forgotten  all  that  it  binds  me  to.'  He  had  in- 
deed taken,  in  public  at  least,  his  mother's  name, 
an  Italian  one,  which  I  have  forgotten.  That 
is  all  I  know  about  Roland,  Agnes  was  not 
spoken  of  at  all.  But  she  has  doubtless  lived 
in  that  peculiar  circle  all  these  years.  It  is  one 
of  constant  change  and  excitement.  She  can 
not  now  have  one  feeling  in  sympathy  with  her 
old  life.  I  think  you  would  be  hurt  and  disap- 
pointed if  you  should  see  her." 

I  am  vera  certain  that  I  should  not.  You 
must  na  say  one  word  o'  suspicion  anent  Agnes. 
I  care  na  where  she  has  been  living,  nor  among 
what  kind  o'  people,  Agnes  is  of  the  seed  of 
the  righteous,  born  in  the  household  of  faith, 
an  inheritor  of  all  the  promises  He  makes,  even 
unto  the  fourth  generation  of  those  that  love 
and  serve  Him.  If  she  has  wandered  to  the 
ends  o'  the  earth  she  will  come  back  hame  as 
surely  as  the  wandering  son  in  the  parable  came 


THE    TIME    WILL    COME.  l"J7 

hame.  And  mind  this,  he  was  always  the  son ; 
in  the  far  country,  in  rioting  and  in  hunger, 
never  less  than  the  son.  I'm  no  feared  for 
Agnes.  She  is  always  God's  daughter.  If  a* 
around  her  were  doing  wrang,  Agnes  would  do 
right ;  she  couldna  help  it,  she  wouldna  want 
to  help  it.  David,  and  mair  gude  folks  than 
David,  hae  had  whiles  to  dwell  among  sons  o* 
Belial,  but  I  would  not  believe  ane  o'  the  seed 
o'  Adam — man  or  woman — who  said  Agnes 
had  done  aught  against  her  fayther's  God,  or 
her  ain  womanhood." 

"  Oh,  Faith,  what  a  grand  thing  it  must  be 
to  have  love  like  yours !  If  your  face  would 
flush,  and  your  eyes  shine  for  me,  as  they  do 
this  moment  for  Agnes,  I  would  count  myself 
a  happy  woman.  No  wonder  Tilbertis  willing 
to  spend  his  life  trying  to  win  you." 

"Come  into  Harribee  and  take  a  glint  at 
Agnes.  I  hae  her  picture.  You  canna  look  at 
it  and  hae  one  ill  thocht  o'  her."  She  quite 
ignored  the  remark  about  Lord  Graeme,  and 
Terres  did  not  think  it  prudent  to  continue  the 
subject. 

After  their  breezy  walk  they  were  both  a 
little  weary,  and  when  Faith  said,  "  take  off 


1 78  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

your  bonnet,  Miss  Graeme,  and  I'll  hae  a  cup 
o'  tea  made,  and  there's  new  cakes  and  fresh 
butter,  and  as  much  thick  cream  as  it  likes  you 
to  drink,"  Terres  answered,  "  That  is  just  what 
I  desire.  I  am  hungry,  and  I  long  for  the  tea. 
And  oh  how  pleasant  is  this  sunny  room  !  " 

Then  Faith  doffed  her  plaid  and  bonnet,  and 
set  the  tray  with  her  best  china,  and  brought 
out  all  her  dainties.  And  the  two  women  en- 
joyed the  good  things  and  talked  over  again 
the  probabilities  of  Roland's  career  and  the 
life  of  Agnes. 

When  the  entertainment  was  over,  Terres  sat 
still.  She  had  something  to  say  to  Faith,  and 
she  had  not  yet  found  her  opportunity.  While 
she  was  considering  how  to  introduce  the  sub- 
ject one  of  the  orphan  children  came  to  Faith 
for  some  directions.  When  she  had  left  the 
room  Miss  Graeme  said,  "  that  fever  in  Mosskir- 
tle  cost  you  something,  Faith." 

"  I  shall  get  back  mair  than  the  cost  some 
way  or  other.  The  bairns  are  industrious  and 
biddable." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  something  else — some- 
thing I  heard.  May  I  ask  you  if  it  is  true  ?  " 

"  Surely." 


THE    TIME    IV ILL   COME.  1 79 

"  Did  you  really  give  Archie  Renwick  two 
hundred  pounds?  Did  you  really  take  care  of 
him  and  Annie  while  they  had  the  fever?" 

"  I  sent  Gammer  Jariston  to  take  care  of 
them.  I  never  said  to  mortal  kind  that  I  had 
given  them  two  hundred  pounds." 

"  But  Renwick  went  up  and  down  the  coun- 
try side  bragging  of  how  much  you  yet  thought 
of  him ;  yes,  and  the  night  before  he  left  with 
his  wife  for  Liverpool,  he  met  my  brother  and 
he  flung  the  same  boast  in  his  face,  and  Til- 
bert,  only  that  the  boor  was  so  white  and  weak, 
would  have  horsewhipped  him  for  it." 

"  I  was  mista'en  in  Archie  Renwick.  I  am 
vera  sorry  he  had  sae  little  care  for  my  name, 
and  for  what  bad-hearted  folks  would  say.  I 
am  sorry,  sorry  to  hear  tell  o'  this.  Puir  weak 
lad  !  He  was  aye  fain  to  be  boasting  o'  some- 
thing or  ither." 

"  Faith,  did  you  love  him?" 

"  Ay — wi'  a'  my  heart." 

"  How  is  it  then  that  you  do  not  regret  him  ? 
That  you  are  so  happy  ?  " 

"  Because,  I  kent  that  naething  could  hap- 
pen me  but  what  God  ordered.  If  it  had  been 
His  will  that  I  should  hae  married  Renwick, 


I  So  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

naething,  nor  any  body  on  earth,  could  hae  hin- 
dered  me  doing  sae.  If  it  wasna  His  will,  I 
didna  want  my  ain  will — and  sorrow  wi'  it." 

"  But  you  must  have  suffered  ?  " 

"Ay,  I  suffered.  But  I  had  nae  time  to  think 
o*  my  suffering.  If  I  did  my  duty  every  day  I 
was  that  tired  at  night  I  hadna  the  power  to 
keep  awake  and  fret  myself.  And  by  and  by 
the  weary  ache  all  went,  and  I  was  comforted 
though  I  scarcely  knew  how." 

"  I  had  a  lover  once,  Faith.  It  is  twenty 
years  ago.  My  brother  made  me  give  him  up 
because  he  was  poor.  Do  you  remember  the 
night  Lord  Graeme  saved  you  from  the  quak- 
ing moss  ?  That  very  night  I  met  him  in  Kir- 
tie  Wood  and  spoke  to  him,  and  he  passed  me 
without  a  word.  I  have  been  tormented  ever 
since  with  love  and  chagrin,  and  a  great  long- 
ing to  see  him,  and  yet  a  terror  of  meeting  one 
so  indifferent.  He  is  rich  now,  and  of  course 
thinks  that  because  I  am  still  unmarried,  I  wish 
to  renew  the  old  tie.  Alas !  he  does  not 
know  that  I  have  remained  unmarried  for  his 
sake." 

"  You  should  hae  put  that  trouble  behind  you 
lang  syne.  Troubles  are  like  medicines,  they 


THE    TIME    WILL   COME.  l8l 

arena  intended  to  live  upon.  Puir  living  they 
make ! " 

"  How  can  I  put  it  behind  me  ?  " 

"  Just  tell  your  ain  soul  that  if  it  isna  God's 
will  for  you  to  marry  the  man,  you  dinna  want 
him.  And  get  some  work  for  your  hands.  And 
go  out  in  the  sunshine.  And  try  and  find  a 
bit  of  loving-kindness  to  do  to  some  other  un- 
happy woman." 

"  What  work  can  I  do  ?  I  have  tried  to  sew 
flowers  on  canvass  with  colored  wools.  The 
result  was  dreadful.  I  have  tried  painting,  and 
I  never  could  make  a  picture  that  looked  like 
either  sea  or  strand,  river,  mountain  or  meadow. 
I  had  to  give  up  music.  It  was  too  full  of 
memories.  I  tried  beautifying  the  grim,  mel- 
ancholy, old  castle  ;  even  fresh  flowers  looked 
sad  in  it.  I  might,  perhaps,  write  a  romance — " 

"  Na,  na,  ma'am  ;  you  be  to  try  and  find  hon- 
ester  work  than  that !  Romances  are  maistly 
lies,  I'm  doubting.  Get  a  spinning-wheel,  a 
big  wheel  or  a  little  one,  and  spin  your  ain  flax. 
There  isna  a  mair  comfortable  kind  o*  wark  in 
life.  It  is  sae  calmsome,  and  your  thochts  gae 
sae  cheerily  to  the  humming," 

"But  I  cannot  spin,  Faith." 


1 82  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

11  Then,  I'll  show  you  how  to  spin,  and  nae 
better  time  for  aught  good  than  present  time." 

So  she  lifted  out  the  wheel  and  showed  Ter- 
res  its  few  mysteries,  and  the  two  women  grew 
merry  over  their  efforts.  Then  there  was  a 
sharp  rap  at  the  door,  as  if  it  had  been  struck 
with  a  whip  handle.  They  were  facing  the  en- 
trance, and  Faith  said,  with  the  air  of  a  mis- 
tress speaking  to  a  servant,  "  Come  in." 

"  Good  morning,  shepherdess  !  What  about 
the  lambs?  Will  you  take  my  offer  ?  " 

"  I  might  hae  a  better  one,  and  I  might  not. 
If  you  will  add  five  pounds  to  it  I  will  take  it." 

"  Very  well.  I  will  send  for  them — this  af- 
ternoon— that  is,  next  week." 

It  was  with  difficulty  he  controlled  his 
thoughts.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  wheel 
and  the  woman  standing  beside  it.  She  had 
ceased  all  attempts  to  continue  her  spinning, 
and  stood  with  eyes  dropped  upon  the  bobbin 
in  her  hand.  Her  face,  which  had  been  full  of 
light  and  pleasure,  was  white  and  set.  She  was 
evidently  restraining  herself  by  the  most  pain- 
ful  efforts. 

Faith  saw  the  embarrassment  of  both  parties 
and  hastened  to  close  the  interview.  "When- 


THE    TIME    WILL   COME.  183 

ever  it  is  your  will,  Lord  Seaton,"  she  said. 
"The  siller  is  at  your  ain convenience, likewise. 
Gude  day,  lord." 

As  the  door  closed  she  turned  to  Terres. 
She  had  taken  the  nearest  chair,  and  there  was 
almost  a  resentful  look  upon  her  face.  "  I 
must  go  now,"  she  said  with  a  sudden  coldness. 

"  I  am  vexed  if  Lord  Seaton's  coming  has 
grieved  you.  I  didna  dream  of  him.  I  thocht 
it  was  the  head  shepherd  from  the  hills  at  the 
noon  hour." 

"  The  noon  hour  !  So  it  is,  and  long  past  it. 
Why  Faith,  how  the  morning  has  gone !  My 
bonnet  and  scarf — thanks  ! — and  call  the  dogs 
if  you  please.  When  shall  I  have  such  happy, 
innocent  hours  again  ?  " 

"You  hae  the  making  o'  all  your  hours, 
Ma'am." 

"  To  be  sure.  Good-by  !  Come  Sweet-lips. 
Come  Juno  !  "  and  with  a  smile  that  Faith  felt 
to  be  forced,  she  walked  away  at  a  rapid  pace. 

"  It  is  a'  of  two  miles,  and  maybe  I  ought  to 
hae  proffered  the  tax-cart,  or  hae  sent  a  man 
riding  swift  for  her  carriage — na,  na ;  she  came 
o'  her  ain  free  will,  and  I  am  not  bound  to  let 
her  pleasure  break  my  work.  Forbye,  the  walk 


184  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

will  do  her  gude,  and  if  she  likes,  she  can  cut 
through  Kirtle  Wood  and  shorten  it  half  a 
mile.". 

That  was  precisely  what  Terres  did.  Her 
quick  walk  helped  her  somewhat,  yet  she  knew 
that  only  in  the  freedom  of  her  own  room 
could  she  fully  relieve  the  tension  of  feel- 
ings  so  surprised  and  overwrought.  In  the 
middle  of  the  wood,  in  the  centre  of  the  nar- 
row path,  just  where  she  had  met  him  before, 
Lord  Seaton  stood.  He  had  dismounted,  and 
was  leaning  against  his  horse.  Terres  must 
turn  back,  or  she  must  pass  him. 

The  first  alternative  scarcely  suggested  it- 
self ;  if  it  did,  it  was  indignantly  denied  in  the 
very  moment  of  its  inception.  She  walked 
straight  on,  scarcely  conscious  of  her  effort, 
seeming  to  skim  the  ground  in  the  forced  ex- 
citement of  the  moment.  Ere  she  was  aware, 
she  had  reached  the  barrier  in  her  path. 

"  Terres  !  Terres  !  Dear  Terres,  speak  to 
me !  " 

What  could  she  do  ?  She  glanced  upward, 
and  then  covering  her  face  with  her  hands, 
sobbed  with  as  womanly  a  passion  as  if  she  had 
been  the  simplest  village  maiden. 


THE    TIME    WILL    COME.  185 

And  what  did  Seaton  want  more.  He  broke 
her  low  sobs  with  sweet  words  long  forgotten. 
He  kissed  away  the  tears  that  wet  her  clasped 
fingers.  He  \vo::'d  her  again  #ith  all  the  fervor 
and  tenderness  of  his,  and  of  her  own  youth. 

What  explanations  !  What  renewed  vows  of 
love  followed !  Up  and  down  the  sweet  green 
path  they  paced  for  hours,  until  every  thing 
had  been  made  clear,  and  every  thing  forgiven. 
Oh,  it  was  so  easy  to  do !  So  pleasant  to  do ! 
For  truest  love  on  both  sides  was  the  interces- 
sor and  the  interpreter. 

And  when  Terres  at  length  shut  and  locked 
behind  her  the  door  of  her  own  apartments  she 
was  too  happy  to  be  still.  Joy  or  sorrow  in 
most  women  runs  into  motion,  and  she  con- 
tinued her  restless  walk  up  and  down,  murmur- 
ing to  herself :  "  Who  could  have  thought  it? 
Who  could  have  hoped  it  ?  Oh,  Faith  Harri- 
bee,  how  I  must  love  you  !  To-day  you  have 
been  my  good  angel.  Now  I  must  go  and  tell 
Tilbert.  Ah !  I  need  to  write  no  romance 
now ;  the  sweetest  one  of  all  is  that  which  we 
write  in  our  own  heart." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ALATE    WEDDING. 

"  O  Love  and  Hope  the  same  I 
Lean  close  to  me,  for  now  the  sinking  sun 
That  warmed  our  feet  scarce  gilds  our  hair  above. 
Lo,  the  last  clusters  !     Pluck  them  every  one, 
And  let  us  sup  with  summer  ;  ere  the  gleam 
Of  autumn  set  the  year's  pent  sorrow  free." 
"  At  last,  though  it  be  late,  Love  clasps  the  hand  of  Fate." 

'T^HAT  night  Terras  Graeme  dressed  herself 
J.  with  taste  and  splendor.  Her  happiness 
had  given  her  back  something  of  the  royal 
beauty  of  her  youth ;  and  it  was  no  mockery 
to  adorn  her  fine  arms  and  throat  with  gems. 
Lord  Graeme  looked  at  her  with  admiration 
and  amazement.  "  Do  you  expect  company, 
or  are  you  going  out  this  evening,  Terres?"  he 
asked,  and  he  went  to  meet  her,  and  gave  her 
his  arm,  and  with  appreciative  smiles,  placed 
her  in  the  chair  next  his  own. 

"  I  am  so  happy,  Tilbert !  So  happy,  that  I 
could  not  help  dressing  gayly.  I  have  spoken 
with  Lord  Seaton.  All  is  forgiven.  I  have 


A   LATE    WEDDING.  187 

won  my  lover  and  my  youth  back.  We  are  to 
be  married  in  three  months." 

Graeme's  face  grew  dark  and  disapproving. 
"  I  shall  have  something  to  say  about  that,"  he 
growled.  "  I  am  not  going  to  give  you  up, 
Terres.  Why,  you  are  all  I  have  !  We  have 
been  all  our  lives  together  !  Give  Seaton  your 
money,  if  you  like,  but  not  yourself.  Not 
yourself,  Terres ! " 

"  Tilbert,  there  must  be  no  interference  now 
with  me,  or  with  my  happiness.  I  intend  to 
marry  Seaton — be  sure  of  that !  " 

"  The  man  is  fortune-hunting  now,  as  he  was 
twenty  years  ago." 

"  You  might  speak  the  truth.  If  a  border 
lord  has  every  other  sin,  he  keeps  to  the  truth, 
if  he  is  a  gentleman." 

"  I  am  speaking  the  truth.  Seaton  got 
nothing  but  the  title,  and  a  trunk  full  of  mort- 
gages. Seaton  Court  is  under  bond  to  the  last 
acre.  Your  £50,000  will  be  salvation  to  him." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it." 

"  Terres,  my  dear  Terres,  do  not  leave  me  5 
What  is  this  stranger  to  us?  " 

"  Seaton  is  your  neighbor.  I  shall  see  you 
every  day.  Tilbert,  let  me  be  happy." 


1 88  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

"  I  thought  you  loved  your  brother?" 

"'You  thought!'  Oh  Tilbert,  have  I  not 
proved  my  love  ?  Who  can  be  to  me  just  what 
you  have  been  ?  " 

"  Tush  !  Let  us  go  to  dinner.  It  is  wait- 
ing. There  is  something  real  in  dinner — love 
is  all  words." 

But  he  ate  nothing.  The  butler  filled  and 
refilled  his  wine  glass  ;  and  his  face  grew  darker 
and  darker  as  he  drank.  He  was  really  suffer- 
ing. Terres  was  the  dearest  part  of  his  life  ; 
he  was  wounded  by  her  desertion,  crippled  in 
his  affections  ;  he  felt  as  if  he  had  suffered  an 
irreparable  injury.  He  could  not  speak  calmly 
of  the  change,  and  he  maintained  a  moody 
silence. 

"  They  be  the  strangest  pair  as  ever  drew 
breath  o'  life,"  said  the  butler  to  his  compan- 
ions  in  the  servant's  hall.  "  Here  comes  Miss, 
all  tricked  oot  in  satin  and  jewels,  as  if  she  was 
going  to  dine  wi'  the  queen,  and  nae  less;  and 
here's  my  lord,  a-sulking  and  a-glooming,  and 
a-leaving  gude  victuals ;  and  the  baith  o'  them, 
in  the  maist-touch-me-not  o'  tempers." 

"  Tuts  !  Dawson.  They  fight,  and  they  mak* 
it  up  as  easy  as  most  folks.  I  dinna  think 


A   LATE    WEDDING.  189 

much  o'  Miss  Graeme's  bad  tempers.  They 
are  like  a  whiff-wharf  o'  storm,  here  and  awa* 
again.  When  women  hae  to  live  wi'  a  man 
like  my  lord,  they  be  to  hae  some  temper,  or 
they'd  be  trod  under  foot.  Even  sae  ! — what 
were  they  doing,  Janet,  when  you  went  in  to 
sort  the  fire  and  the  hearthstane?" 

"  My  lord  was  walking  about  wi'  a  face  as 
black  as  Sawtan's  ;  and  Miss  Graeme  was  lying 
back  in  her  big  chair,  wi'  her  e'en  shut." 

"  Letting  on  to  be  asleep  !  Noo,  there  is 
simply  nae  thing  mair  aggravating  to  a  man 
troubled  in  his  mind,"  said  Dawson, "  and  I  dinna 
doot  my  lord  will  gie  her  a  wee  shake,  if  she 
doesna  heed  his  mood,  ere  lang." 

"  A  body  may  surely  hae  e'en,  and  see  not ; 
and  ears,  and  hear  not,  when  there  is  tempers 
and  port  wine  aboon  a  man's  gude  sense  and 
gude  feeling.  You  said  yoursel',  he  drank  a 
hale  oottle  o'  port, — nice  company  any  man  is, 
after  a  bottle  o'  port." 

"  My  lord  tak's  a  bottle  vera  easy.  You 
wouldna  ken  it  on  him." 

"  Ay,  but  you  can  ken  it  in  him.  My  sister 
Jean's  man,  can  tak'  a  bottle  o'  whiskey,  and 
walk  as  steady  as  mysel' — but  he  has  drunk  a 


19°  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

hale  deevil  doon  wi'  it,  and  Jean  just  ties  him 
up,  as  she  wad  tie  up  a  wild  animal  till  he 
comes  to  himsel'  again." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  your  sister  Jean,  or  any  ither 
woman  body,  lay  a  hand — or  a  word — on  my 
lord." 

"  He's  nae  mair  than  any  ither  man — he's 
feared  for  his  sister  " — 

"  Him  feared  !  Na,  na  !  He  doesna  ken  the 
meaning  o'  the  word." 

"  Tuts,  Dawson !  You  dinna  ken  when  a 
man  is  feared.  He  is  walking  aboot  thee  now, 
just  as  meeserable  as  a  fesh  oot  a  water;  and 
Miss  Terres  is  tormenting  him  'oot  o'  his  senses, 
wi'  her  shut  e'en  and  her  way  o'  looking  as  if 
naething  on  earth  could  ever  mak'  her  heed  him 
any  mair.  He'll  hae  to  go  to  her,  and  say  the 
first  gude  word,  and  may  be  she'll  listen  to 
him,  and  may  be  she'll  say  '  she  doesna  care  to 
be  worried,  or  she's  sleepy,  or  the  like  o'  that." 

But  when  Graeme  fulfilled  his  housekeeper's 
prophecy,  and  stooped  over  his  sister  and  said 
the  first  gude  word,  she  opened  her  eyes  with 
a  bright  smile,  and  answered,  "  I  am  so  glad 
you  are  more  reasonable,  Tilbert.  Let  us 
look  at  my  marriage  as  an  accomplished 


A   LATE    WEDDING.  Ipl 

fact,  and  consider  your  happiness  with  regard 
to  it." 

"  My  happiness  is  out  of  such  considera- 
tion." 

"  Nonsense !  I  was  thinking  of  you  and 
Faith.  I  spent  all  the  morning  with  her.  A  man 
had  better  win  Faith  Harribee  than  conquer  a 
kingdom.  She  is  the  truest,  sweetest,  most 
lovable  woman  in  the  whole  world.  I  am  not 
worthy  to  be  her  sister." 

Nothing  Terres  could  have  said  would  so 
completely  and  so  instantaneously  have  driven 
away  the  evil  spirit  in  Graeme's  heart.  He 
asked  all  about  their  interview  ;  but  as  Terres 
related  their  conversation  about  Roland  and 
Agnes,  the  light  on  his  face  died  out,  and 
he  shivered  slightly  as  he  bent  lower  to  the 
blaze.  But  Terres  was  so  happy,  and  her 
heart  was  so  full  of  new  hope,  that  she 
threw  backward,  as  it  were,  the  thought  that 
blanched  her  brother's  face,  and  made  him 
shiver  under  the  lash  of  memory.  Still  the 
things  of  the  present  are  always  the  most  en- 
grossing, and  the  words  of  Terres  about  Faith, 
were  sweeter  than  honey,  and  stronger  than 
wine  to  him. 


192  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"And  you  really  think  that  I  may  hope, 
Terres  ?  " 

"  I  do  think  so.  When  I  said  you  were  will- 
ing to  spend  your  whole  life  in  winning  her 
love,  she  never  answered  the  remark.  There  is 
a  great  deal  of  consent  in  a  woman's  silence. 
And  Faith  is  one  of  those  women  who  are 
mistress  of  their  own  secrets;  if  she  had  not 
liked  you,  she  would  have  said  at  once,  '  it  is  a 
pity  he  should  waste  life  in  a  useless  effort.  I 
never  could  love  him.'  Yes,  she  would  surely 
have  said  some  words  to  that  effect,  for  she  is 
as  clear  and  truthful  as  the  dayshine." 

"  I  would  be  a  happy,  and  a  good  man, 
Terres,  if  I  had  Faith  for  a  wife.' 

"  I  am  sure  you  would.  A  little  caution,  and 
a  little  perseverance,  and  you  will  win  her." 

Then  they  were  silent  a  while,  but  both  were 
thinking  of  the  same  thing.  Terres  had  not 
spoken  of  Roland  that  night  without  a  distinct 
purpose.  The  subject  was  always  a  disagree- 
able one  to  enter  upon,  but  at  this  crisis  in  her 
life,  she  wished  her  brother  to  understand  that 
she  had  fully  committed  herself  to  a  certain 
position,  and  that  she  meant  to  abide  by  it. 

Graeme  was  not  slow  in  comprehending  his 


A    LATE  WEDDING,  *93 

sister.  He  recalled  all  she  had  told  him,  and 
then,  in  a  thoughtful,  hesitating  manner,  re- 
marked : 

"  The  version  you  gave  Faith  is  to  be  the 
true  one  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  final  one.  It  is  the  one  I  shall  re- 
assert whenever  the  subject  forces  itself  to  dis- 
cussion." 

"  Sometimes,  I  am  sorry —  " 

"  I  am  never  sorry.  I  never  shall  be  sorry. 
Look  if  the  door  is  shut  and  the  corridor 
empty." 

He  rose,  glanced  up  and  down  the  gloomy 
passage,  shut  the  door  carefully,  and  returned 
to  the  hearth.  Terres  had  drawn  her  chair 
closer  to  the  fire,  they  bent  together  over 
it,  and  their  low  words  blended  with  the 
crackling  wood,  and  seemed  to  vanish  amid 
the  smoke  and  blaze  of  the  cavernous  chim- 
ney. 

"  Let  us  face  the  position  squarely  for  this 
once,  Tilbert.  Then  we  will  bury  the  subject 
forever.  There  is  no  possibility  of  Roland 
ever  hearing  the  truth  from  any  soul  hut  you, 
or  I  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  that." 


194  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

"  You  said,  sometimes  you  were  sorry — what 
for?" 

"  Well,  he  is  a  fine  fellow.  He  would  have 
done  very  well  in  my  place." 

"  He  is  a  fine  fellow  on  the  operatic  stage, 
where  his  own  place  is  ;  or  he  would  never  have 
gone  there.  What  Graeme  worthy  of  the  name, 
ever  before  took  to  fiddling  aud  acting  and 
making  a  show  of  himself,  for  money  ?  Wil- 
liam committed  an  outrage  against  every  one 
of  his  family,  living  and  dead,  in  marrying  a 
woman  whom  any  Italian  beggar  for  a  piastre 
could  go  and  jeer  at,  or  applaud,  as  it  suited  his 
fancy — a  foreigner,  almost  a  pauper,  and  a 
papist  too.  I  don't  pretend  to  much  religion, 
but  the  Graeme's  have  always  stood  by  episco- 
pacy— an  adventurer,  I  have  no  doubt,  who 
traded  upon  Will's  folly." 

"  Come,  let  us  keep  to  facts.  Neither  of  us 
ever  saw  her.  She  was  well  spoken  of  in  the 
Greek  town  where  Will  made  his  home." 

"  We  will  keep  to  facts,  if  you  wish  it.  She 
left  a  son,  who,  if  she  were  married  to  Will, 
ought  to  be  in  your  place." 

"  She  was  married  to  Will.  There  is  no 
doubt  of  that.  Will's  last  letter,  which  the 


A   LATE    WEDDING.  195 

priest  gave  me,  said  so;  and  referred  me  to 
the  records  of  the  little  Roman  chapel  where 
the  ceremony  took  place.  I  did  not  go  to 
search  them,  but  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt 
of  Roland's  legitimacy." 

"  Look  at  the  fact  then  in  its  worst  light.  If 
the  marriage  should  be  discovered,  still  there 
is  not  the  slightest  proof  that  you  knew  of  it. 
You  would  have  to  give  place  to  the  interloper, 
but  popular  sympathy  would  be  with  you,  and 
in  the  meantime  every  year  is  a  distinct  gain 
to  you.  You  have  become  a  rich  man.  Never 
more  could  you  know  the  pinching  and  scrimp- 
ing of  those  days,  when  Will  was  in  possession, 
and  not  only  neglecting  the  property,  but 
wasting  every  shilling  he  could  get  upon 
strangers  in  a  strange  country." 

"  Many  people  would  say  I  ought  to  have 
been  sure  of  my  position;  others,  that  it  was 
most  unlikely  Will  died  without  leaving  me 
evidence  to  establish  his  son's  rights.  Then 
the  question  would  rise  naturally,  "  What  did 
he  do  with  such  evidence? 

"  Whatever  you  did  with  it,  you  did  well.  I 
stand  with  you  there.  Your  right,  as  our 
father's  son  was  before  Roland's  right  as  the 


196  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

son  of  that  woman  !  Your  right  was  the  natural 
right,  the  strong  right.  For  what  is  done,  I 
will  not  have  a  regret.  Let  us  think  of  the 
future.  If  you  marry  Faith,  and  have  sons  of 
your  own,  you  will  be  glad  you  kept  the  inherit- 
ance for  them.  If  you  have  no  heir,  and  I 
have  children,  I  shall  be  equally  grateful.  If 
neither  of  us  have  children,  let  the  name  and 
the  estate  go  to  Graeme  of  Hazelburn ;  he  is 
of  pure  border  lineage  on  both  sides." 

"  Terres,  I  have  often  had  another  thought 
about  this  matter — if  we  should  meet  Will 
again,  what  of  that  meeting?  " 

"Are  you  trembling  at  shadows?  I  never 
was  afraid  of  Will  when  he  was  here,  and  lately, 
I  have  lost  all  fear  of  him — yonder.  I  shall 
ask  him  what  right  he  had  to  make  us  ill  friends 
with  old  friends  like  the  Lenox?  What  right 
he  had  to  defile  the  old  line  that  gave  him  birth, 
and  wealth,  and  honor  ?  What  right  he  had  to 
marry  a  woman  whom  he  was  compelled  to  go 
into  hiding  with  ? — A  woman  who  forced  him 
to  desert  his  home,  and  his  brother  and  sister — 
to  neglect  his  private  duties,  and  his  public 
obligations,  and  caused  him  to  die  like  a  crim- 
inal in  a  Greek  hamlet ;  instead  of  among  the 


A   LATE    WEDDING.  197 

shadowy  host  and  the  living  kin,  in  t*ie  Graeme's 
Castle?  If  Will  is  there,  other  Graemes  will  be 
there  also  ;  men  of  our  own  spirit,  women  who 
will  understand  my  feelings — they  will  stand 
by  what  we  have  done,  and  approve  it.  If  we 
are  to  begin  supposing  about  the  future,  we 
have  as  much  right  to  suppose  one  thing  as 
another. 

"  That  is  true.  But  I  have  often  wondered 
why  Roland  dislikes  me  so  much  ?  Does  he 
suspect  any  thing  ?  " 

"  Very  likely  he  does.  A  bright  boy  of 
nearly  ten  years  old  has  his  opinions  and  con- 
victions. Roland  remembered  his  Greek  life 
very  vividly.  His  mother  was  a  saint  in  his 
memory,  his  father  the  kindest  and  best  of 
men.  After  he  grew  to  manhood  and  married, 
he  would  be  sure  to  judge  his  memories  by  his 
own  experiences,  and  almost  certainly  arrive  at 
the  truth.  That  he  treated  you  with  such 
marked  dislike  and  contempt,  shows  in  reality 
he  had  done  so  ;  but  it  also  shows  that  he  had 
no  proofs  of  his  suspicions,  no  facts  of  any  kind 
which  could  turn  them  into  surety.  If  he  had, 
we  should  long  ago  have  been  made  aware  of 
them." 


198  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"  Still,  Terres, " 

"Tilbert,  if  you  have  fits  of  remorse  about 
that  playing-woman's  son,  do  keep  them  to 
yourself.  I  am  not  disposed  to  let  them  trouble 
my  future.  To  the  last  moment  of  my  life  I 
will  stand  by  the  position  we  took.  I  shall 
expect  you  to  do  the  same,  if  you  are  not  a 
poltroon  and  a  coward." 

"  Keep  such  words  within  your  lips,  Terres. 
I  won't  have  them  thrown  sideways  at  me." 

"  Don't  provoke  the  thoughts  that  bring  the 
words,  then.  And  what  use  is  there  in  our 
quarreling  now  ?  Do  save  some  of  your  tern- 
per  for  Faith  Harribee." 

"  Faith  would  not  provoke  me  as  you  do." 

"  Indeed,  I  can  assure  you  that  very  good 
people  can  be  exceedingly  exasperating.  I 
imagine  even  I  and  you  could  learn  something 
in  the  way  of  aggravation  from  a  quarrel  be- 
tween saints.  You  will  not  be  able  to  bully 
Faith  any  more  than  myself.  Her  weapons  of 
offense  and  defense  may  be  different  from  mine, 
but  they  will  be  effective.  I  have  no  doubt 
of  it." 

Her  real  anger  had  passed  into  a  tone  of  ban- 
ter, and  Graeme  was  inclined  to  accept  the 


A   LATE    WEDDING.  199 

compromise  and  suffer  all  ill-feeling  to  evapo- 
rate in  a  laugh.  Besides,  he  wished  to  talk  of 
Faith,  and  when  Terres  said,  she  was  determ- 
mined  to  have  her  for  a  bridesmaid,  Graeme 
was  so  delighted  with  the  possibilities  the  situ- 
ation offered,  that  he  was  quite  willing  to  dis- 
cuss with  interest  further  arrangements  for  the 
ceremony. 

Nor  was  the  proposal  for  Faith's  presence 
any  very  great  social  trespass.  She  had  been 
gradually  becoming  a  woman  of  wealth  and 
uifluence.  The  dominie  always  called  her  "  the 
Lady  of  Harribee."  The  neighboring  gentry 
had  begun  to  accept  and  repeat  the  title.  In  all 
local  matters  she  held  a  controlling  power.  Her 
interest  was  well  worth  seeking,  and  though  she 
usually  avoided  ceremonious  visiting,  it  was 
known  that  she  had  been  a  guest  at  Elderslee, 
the  residence  of  the  new  member  of  Parliament, 
whose  election  she  had  undoubtedly  secured. 
So,  though  she  preserved  her  single  life,  and 
persevered  in  all  her  industrious  and  economi- 
cal habits,  evidences  of  wealth  and  refinement 
and  social  power  had  gradually  found  a  place 
in  the  gray  old  home  of  Harribee. 

After  Terres  left  her  that  eventful  morning 


zoo  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

she  was  unhappy.  She  did  not  understand  the 
sudden  change  in  Miss  Graeme's  manner  ,  and 
a  moody,  fretful  temper  was  one  of  the  things 
which  she  could  neither  tolerate  nor  excuse. 
"Any  way,  I'll  no  let  her  worry  my  goings  on," 
she  mused  ;  "  I  hae  often  heard  tell  these  fine 
ladies  hae  what  they  call  the  vapors,  and  the 
nerves.  Gertie  !  They  might  be  catching,  for 
I'm  no  like  myself  at  a',  feeling  cross  for 
naething,  and  a'  tossed  up  because  'my  lady' 
got  weary  o'  playing  at  being  amiable.  Tuts, 
tuts,  Faith  Harribee  !  You  arena  very  amiable 
yourself,  blaming  folks  out  o'  your  ain  mind. 
Phemie,  let  us  hae  a  bit  o'  solid  dinner,  and 
then  get  me  a  web  o'  winsey.  I'll  cut  some- 
clothing  for  poor  Mausie  Coquet  to  make,  and 
then  ride  o'er  to  Moss  Kirtle  with  it." 

Phemie  was  not  pleased  at  the  interruption 
to  the  usual  work  which  Miss  Graeme's  visit  had 
caused — "  fine  lady  visitors  taking  tea  before 
dinner  time,  and  makin'  believe  to  spin !  Per- 
fect nonsense  !  "  and  with  such  thoughts  in  her 
heart,  she  did  not  do  any  thing  tending  to  bring 
a  pleasanter  atmosphere  into  the  house.  So 
Faith  was  glad  to  get  into  the  open  air  again, 
and  she  drove  slowly  and  talked  longer  than 


A   LATE    WEDDING.  20 1 

usual  with  her  needle-woman,  and  even  delayed 
at  intervals  to  speak  a  few  words  with  some  of 
the  village  wives. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  when  she  got  home. 
She  had  been  thinking  of  Agnes  all  the  after- 
noon. Miss  Graeme's  conversation  had  brought 
some  very  solemn  considerations  for  her.  If 
she  had  any  heirs,  the  children  of  Agnes — if 
Agnes  had  any  children — were  the  natural 
ones.  Failing  them,  what  was  she  to  do  with 
her  money? 

"  I  might  marry  and  hae  bairns  myself." 
The  thought  came  to  her  she  knew  not  how, 
but  it  brought  the  blood  surging  into  her  face, 
and  she  felt  annoyed  and  hurried  the  pony  into 
a  gallop — "  a  daft-like  thing  to  do,"  she  mut- 
tered, "the  puir  beastie  wasna  to  blame  for  the 
silly  thocht." 

When  she  went  into  the  house-place  Phemie 
gave  her  a  letter.  "  It  cam'  twa  hours  ago,  but 
you're  aye  rinning  roun'  the  country-side  thae 
days — and  I'm  maist  sure  it  is  frae  Agnes.  I 
hae  been  fair  sick  anent  it,  fearing  it  was  ill 
news." 

"  Ay,  it's  from  Agnes,  thank  God !  Dinna 
greet,  Phemie,  I'll  read  it  this  vera  minute." 


202  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

It  was  a  loving,  child-like  letter.  "  She  was 
so  happy,"  she  said,  "  only  not  feeling  very 
well,  and  just  dowie  with  a  fit  of  home-sickness." 
God  had  given  her  two  sons,  and  she  had  called 
them  after  her  father  and  grandfather,  Matthew 
and  David  ;  "and  oh,  Faith!"  she  concluded, 
"  I  want  to  kiss  you,  and  to  see  you  kiss  my 
bairns,  and  though  I  ken  weel  you  have  for- 
given me  lang  syne,  I  want  you  to  say  so  once 
again,  dear  lassie;  for  I  am  not  quite  well,  and 
my  heart  is  sair  longing  for  a  word  from  you. 
And  put  a  bonnie  blue-bell  from  the  fell-side  in 
your  letter,  and  with  a  kiss  and  a  kind  word, 
send  to  the  care  of  John  Clapham,  Lincoln's 
Inn,  London." 

And  Faith  and  Phemie  kissed  the  letter,  and 
then  knelt  down  and  thanked  God.  From 
each  woman's  heart  had  gone  the  last  shadow 
of  every  thing  not  lovely  and  loving.  Faith 
laid  Phemie's  wrinkled  face,  set  in  its  wide, 
linen-bordered  cap,  against  her  breast,  kissed 
away  the  tears  in  her  faded  blue  eyes,  and 
whispered  to  her,  "  Forgie  me,  Phemie,  if  I 
was  a  bit  thochtless  to  you  !  And,  Phemie, 
kiss  me  for  Agnes,  too.  The  dear  bairn,  she 
is  maybe  coming  hame  to  us  yet." 


A   LATE    WEDDING.  203 

For  Faith  suddenly  built  a  great  deal  upon 
this  unlooked  for  communication.  Agnes  had 
hitherto  refrained  from  giving  the  slightest 
clew  to  her  residence.  She  had  left  her  with- 
out  any  chance  even  to  thank  her  for  the  box 
which  contained  so  many  evidences  of  her 
affection.'  But  now  she  had  risked  every  thing 
in  her  desire  to  hear  from  home,  and  Faith, 
that  very  night,  sat  down  and  told  her 
all  that  happened  since  she  left  Harribee. 
She  was  a  slow  pen-woman,  but  oh  how 
easy  it  seemed  to  write  to  Agnes  the  fullest 
words  of  tender  love  and  complete  forgive- 
ness. 

And  the  two  lads  !  How  her  heart  went  out 
to  them !  She  had  been  troubling  herself 
about  an  heir  to  her  property,  and  here  were 
her  own  nephews  !  "  The  bairns  o'  my  ain 
bonnie  Agnes!  Called  for  my  honored  fayther 
and  grandfayther,  and  holding  a  memory  like- 
wise  o'  my  dear  wee  Davie  !  The  lands  and 
the  hame  o'  Harribees  will  come  to  their  ain, 
thank  God  !  Oh,  if  a  body  could  only  trust 
God  to  look  both  before  and  behind  them  ! 
What  a  mair  than  useless  worry  I  hae  had  this 
day  !  I  hae  twa  nephews !  Think  o'  that !  Oh 


204  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

may  The  Three  and  The  One  be  their  God 
and  guide  !  "  * 

There  was  not  a  sprig  of  heather  on  the  hills 
that  was  not  dearer  to  her  after  this  news. 
And  yet  "  a  full  heart  is  aye  a  kind  heart." 
The  orphans  within  her  gates  were  never  an 
hour  less  welcome.  No  one  was  permitted  to 
darken  their  youth  with  cross  words  or  unjust 
reproofs.  And  it  may  be  said  here  as  well  as 
later,  that  the  course  she  had  marked  out  for 
herself  with  regard  to  them,  though  not  a  very 
ambitious  one,  succeeded  far  better  than  many 
much  more  ambitious  plans  have  done.  And 
it  gathered  weight  from  her  own  experience ; 
for  during  many  a  year,  Faith's  proteges  re- 
ceived constant  additions,  some  temporary, 
and  others  whose  future  she  became  entirely 
responsible  for.  So  that  the  Dominie  fre- 
quently said  of  her,  "  She  is  a  woman  who  has 
had  no  children,  but  there  have  been  few 
women  whom  so  many  children  have  loved." 

The  morning  after  this  happy  letter  from 
Agnes,  Faith  was  astonished  by  another  visit 
from  Miss  Graeme.  She  was  even  more  aston- 
ished at  the  physical  change  in  the  woman's 
*  An  old  Border  blessing. 


A    LATE    WEDDIXG.  205 

face.  "  You  hae  grown  years  younger  in  a 
single  night,  Miss  Graeme;  vvhate'er  has  come 
to  you  ?  " 

"  Love  has  come  to  me ;  joy  has  come  to 
me,  and  a  friend,  and  a  husband  !  Every  thing 
has  come  to  me,  Faith !  And  I  think  you 
were  the  medium.  There  must  be  a  link 
somewhere  between  two  lives.  When  your 
lovely  soul  was  the  conductor  between  Seaton 
and  myself  all  went  well ;  the  sympathy  was 
complete.  He  told  me  that  as  soon  as  he  saw 
me  standing  beside  you  at  the  wheel  all  the 
old  love  came  back  to  his  heart.  He  waited 
for  me  in  the  Kirtle  wood.  Faith !  Faith !  I 
am  to  be  his  wife  at  the  harvest  time." 

And  Faith  entered  into  her  joy  with  enthu- 
siasm. She  said  frankly,  "  I  think  you  are  a 
lucky  woman.  Lord  Seaton  is  weel  thocht  o', 
and  weel  spoken  o',  and  Seaton  Court  is  ane 
o'  the  bonniest  places  in  the  border  land. 
Though  my  ain  love  line  was  broken  in  twa, 
I'm  aye  glad  to  see  other  women  happy.  And 
what  are  you  going  to  wear  at  your  bridal  ? 
You  sail  hae  some  linen  o'  my  ain  spinning 
for  your  plenishing,  if  you'll  pleasure  me  by 
taking  it;  I  hae  a  store  o'  fine  damask  laid  by." 


206  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"  I  would  rather  have  it  than  gold  or  jewels. 
Anything  you  do  for  me  will  bring  me  joy  and 
prosperity.  And,  Faith,  I  have  one  favor, 
above  all  others,  to  ask  of  you." 

"  If  I  can  grant  it,  you  may  say  thank  you 
ere  you  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  Then  I  say  thank  you  ;  for  I  only  want 
you  to  walk  with  me  to  church,  to  be  one  of 
my  bridesmaids.  Lady  Jessie  Gowrie  will 
keep  you  company." 

"  'Deed  you  hae  taken  me  unawares ;  and 
you  hae  said  thank  you  for  naething.  For  I 
hae  never  put  foot  in  an  established  kirk,  and 
I  dinna  think  I  could  bring  myself  to  do  sae." 

"  Why,  Faith  !  There  are  as  true  Christians 
in  it  as  in  the  Cameronian  kirk.  You  know 
that." 

"  I  dinna  ken — may  be.  My  fayther  truly 
allowed  them  some  heritage,  for  he  aye  called 
them  '  the  puir  wee  wrens  o'  the  Lord,  wha 
had  to  pick  up  crumbs  o'  salvation  from  the 
hand  o'  patronage.'  But  I  hope  I  am  not  a 
bigot,  Miss  Graeme — and  that  isna  the  hale  o* 
my  drawback." 

"What  else,  Faith?" 

"  I  ken  little  o'  the  dress  and  ways  o'  lords 


A  LATE    WEDDING.  2OJ 

and  ladies;  and  though  I  can  speak  as  high 
English  as  any  o'  them,  my  ain  way  o'  talking; 
is  mair  natural  and  easy  to  me.  In  kent  ways 
I  am  a  weel  kent  woman,  but  among  strangers 
I  might  be  lightlied,  and  that  would  hurt  me." 

"They  that  lightly  you  lightly  me  ;  yes,  and 
Tilbert,  too.  Faith,  I  am  not  going  to  be 
married  without  the  blessing  your  presence 
will  bring." 

"Weel,  then,  I'll  be  to  promise  you."  Then 
her  eyes  grew  bright,  and  her  fine  face  flushed,, 
and  she  entered  with  genuine  womanly  delight 
into  the  talk  of  satins  and  laces,  and  all  the  happy" 
and  splendid  paraphernalia  of  wedding  times. 

It  was  well  that  Faith  could  afford  now  to 
leave  her  main  farm  duties  to  her  head  men  ; 
for  during  the  next  three  months  Terres  was; 
very  often  at  Harribee.  She  told  Faith  every/ 
thing  about  her  lover  and  her  plans,  and  Lord 
Seaton  got  into  the  habit  of  calling  often  at 
Harribee  for  her.  In  his  eyes  the  shep- 
herdess was  one  of  the  noblest  of  women  ; 
he  was  always  delighted  to  find  Terres  in  her 
company.  In  fact,  Faith  got  to  feel  an  interest 
in  the  couple  that  had  something  almost  moth- 
erly in  its  forbearance  and  unselfishness. 


208  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

In  the  middle  of  the  barley  harvest  the  mar 
riage  took  place.  There  was  a  great  gathering 
in  Graeme  Castle  to  witness  its  celebration, 
but  among  all  the  titled  dames  there,  the  lady 
of  Harribee  was  the  fairest.  She  was  in  the 
topmost  prime  of  her  life;  she  was  richly 
dressed,  and  she  attracted  every  eye,  and  every 
heart  by  the  grave  dignity  of  her  manner,  and 
the  pleasant,  loving  kindness  that  lighted  her 
face,  and  made  her  speech,  with  its  little  slips 
into  idioms,  sweeter  than  music. 

And  oh,  how  proud  and  happy  Lord  Graeme 
-was  in  her  presence.  It  was  a  great  thing  to 
see  her  in  his  house.  It  was  simply  a  wonder- 
ful thing  to  have  her  upon  his  arm  in  the 
wedding  procession.  Little  he  knew  what 
thoughts  troubled  her  all  the  time!  For  she 
did  not  cross  Graeme's  threshold  without  re- 
membering how  bitterly  her  father  hated  the 
whole  race.  For  many  weeks  she  had  been 
unable  to  decide  the  question  of  her  visit 
there ;  and  Phemie  had  given  her  very  little 
help  toward  any  comfortable  assurance  of  its 
propriety. 

"  If  the  maister  was  alive,"  she  said,  "  you 
wouldna  get  leave  to  tak'  ane  step  to  Graeme ; 


A   LATE    WEDDING  209 

but  he  has  been  o'er  the  grave  bounds  for  a 
term  of  years.  The  sheet  let  down  frae  heaven 
taught  Simon  Peter  a  gude  deal  in  the  way  o* 
not  despising  folk  ;  and  as  the  lesson  cam'  frae 
heaven,  Maister  Harribee  will  hae  vera  likely 
in  heaven  have  made  oot  a  few  o'  the  same 
kind  for  himsel !  " 

"  In  gude  Scots,  that  is,  you  think  I  might 
in  charity  go  to  Graeme,  eh,  Phemie?" 

"  I  did  na  say  that  ;  but  by  a  mercifu'  inter- 
pretation o'  the  vision  o'  Peter  I  think  sae — 
maybe — but  I'll  tak'  no  obligations  anent  the 
matter.  I  ne'er  cared  to  anger  the  maister 
when  he  was  alive,  and  as  for  the  dead,  one 
never  kens  whar  they  are.  He  might  be 
present  this  vera  minute,  and  if  sae,  I  think 
anent  the  Graeme's,  just  as  he  does." 

"  I  will  go  this  once,  Phemie.  It  is  but  a 
neighborly  thing  to  do." 

"Ay,  if  you  hae  time  to  be  doing  things  in 
life  that  you  feel  must  only  be  done  this 
ance.  I  ne'er  thocht  I  had  the  time  for  the 
like  o'  them." 

As  such  conversations  had  been  pretty  fre- 
quent, they  had  not  left  Faith's  mind  without 
Qualms  of  uncertainty.  And  Lord  Graeme's 


310  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

ananner  made  her  tremble,  and  his  love-glan- 
«cing  eyes  troubled  the  very  depths  of  her  soul. 
-She  was  glad  when  the  great  event  was  over ; 
twhen  the  bride  had  been  carried  away  with 
rejoicings,  and  even  the  church  bells  had 
teased  their  clashing  wedding  peal. 

In  Graeme  Castle,  she  knew  there  was  high 
feasting,  and  the  tinkling  of  violins,  and  the 
light  measure  of  dancing  feet ;  but  she  sat  in 
the  calm  glow  of  her  own  fireside,  far  more 
truly  happy  in  the  thoughts  that  stretched 
backward  into  the  days  of  her  youth,  with  all 
their  glamor  of  love  and  hope,  joy  and  sorrow, 
labor  and  rest  ;  and  forward  into  the  glory  of 
foeaven,  and  the  peace  of  that  love  which 
passeth  understanding,  which  has  no  varia- 
bleness neither  shadow  of  turning. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE. 

THE  year  following  Miss  Graeme's  marriage 
was  a  very  calm  and  happy  one  to  Faith. 
Lord  and  Lady  Seaton  remained  abroad  for 
many  months,  and  after  a  little  delay  Lord 
Graeme  also  left  Scotland.  His  castle  was  in- 
expressibly dull  without  Terres,  and  one  visit 
to  Faith  convinced  him  that  he  had  not  yet 
reached  the  fortunate  hour  of  his  love. 

"  But  it  will  come  to  me,  as  it  came  to  Terres/* 
he  assured  himself ;  and  in  the  meantime,  he 
threw  his  heart  and  time  away  in  the  most 
frivolous  pleasures  of  the  great  European 
capitals. 

Faith  permitted  herself  to  think  very  little  of 
him.  Yet  it  was  impossible  altogether  to  forget 
the  moments  in  which  his  life  and  hers  had 
blended.  All  of  these  occasions,  were  in  some 
respects  remarkable  ;  they  stood  clearly  out  in 
memory,  and  would  not  glide  off  into  the  mass 
of  ordinary  events.  Usually  her  reflections 


212  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

ended  in  a  sighing  ejaculation  of  "  Weel,  thanks 
be !  I  am  out  o'  the  way  of  his  temptation  !  " 
For  she  found  it  impossible  to  dislike  him  per- 
sonally, and  consequently  his  presence,  his 
admiration  and  the  compelling  influence  of  his 
great  love,  were  not  without  power  over  her. 
Indeed,  the  very  acknowledgment  to  her  own 
heart  that  he  was,  a  temptation,  was  an 
admission  of  Graeme's  influence  and  of  her 
own  weakness. 

But  her  hands  were  full  of  work,  and  her  head 
was  full  of  a  variety  of  plans.  She  was  adding 
house  to  house,  and  field  to  field,  and  her 
account  in  Hawick  bank  was  growing  to  a  pro- 
portion that  made  her  very  often  feel  a  strange 
sense  of  responsibility  about  it.  Still  with  the 
growth  of  material  wealth,  there  had  come  also 
a  far  more  than  proportionate  increase  of  affec- 
tionate claims  upon  her. 

She  now  heard  frequently  from  Agnes,  and 
sometimes  from  her  nephews,  who  were  at  a 
large  public  school  near  London.  Agnes  sel- 
dom wrote  twice  from  the  same  city.  It  was 
evident  that  she  had  no  permanent  home,  but 
went  with  Roland  wherever  his  professional 
engagments  took  him.  And  Faith — in  whom 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE.  2IJ-, 

the  home  instinct  was  all-powerful — felt  a  great 
pity  for  her  in  this  respect.  To  have  no 
home  !  appeared  to  Faith  the  saddest  of  human, 
fates. 

But  Agnes  had  her  compensations,  and  they 
were  sufficient  for  her,  for  she  refused — and 
perhaps  very  wisely  so — all  her  sister's  urgent 
requests  to  visit  Harribee  again  : 

"  We  have  drifted  so  far  apart,  dear  Faith," 
she  wrote,  "  there  is  nothing  in  common  between 
us  but  our  love.  My  ways,  so  innocent  in  my 
own  sight,  would  just  be  a  pain  and  a  grief  to- 
you.  My  people  are  not  your  people  ;  but  oh 
Faith !  we  have  the  same  God  ;  and  when  we 
meet  in  his  house,  we  shall  always  be  both  kin 
and  kind." 

So  as  Faith  went  up  and  down  the  fells  at 
the  lambing  time,  or  watched  her  men  and 
women  in  the  hay  fields,  and  the  harvest  fields, 
or  stood  spinning  on  the  winter  hearth,  while 
the  white  snow  fell  noiselessly ;  her  heart  was 
busy  with  loving  thoughts  and  projects,  and  her 
future  peopled  with  happy  dreams. 

One  night,  a  little  more  than  a  year  after  the 
marriage  of  Lord  Seaton  to  Miss  Graeme,  Faith 
sat  by  her  fireside  making  up  her  dairy  account. 


214  A   J30RDER   SHEPHERDESS, 

Phemie  was  knitting  in  the  chimney-corner 
beside  her.  The  first  snow  of  winter  was  falling, 
but  the  big  fires  burned  with  unusual  bright- 
ness, and  there  was  a  charming  air  of  peace  and 
comfort  in  Harribee  Home.  When  Faith  was 
calculating,  Phemie's  needles  clicked  monoton- 
ously on,  but  whenever  she  began  to  fold  a 
paper,  then  Phemie  broke  the  silence  with  some 
Jbit  of  farm  gossip,  or  some  wonder,  or  reflec- 
tion of  her  own. 

"  Moffat  wanted  to  speak  to  you  Ma'am, 
about  getting  married.  I  just  up  and  told  him. 
.the  the  thing  was  unfaceable  and  that  Effiie 
•'Gates  at  any  time  was  but  a  rue-bargain.  When 
\i oiks  are  well-at-ease,  they  ought  to  be  thankfu', 
and  let  well  be." 

"  To  be  sure,  they  ought.  How  many  quarts 
a.  day  does  The  Graeme  Arms  take  now  ?  " 

"  Six  quarts  ma'am,  and  the  cream.  There 
•was  a  meeting  last  week  there,  anent  getting  a 
piece  o'  siller  ware  for  the  heir  o'  Seaton — if 
there  should  be  a  heir — and  John  Dickson  was 
'Cushon-man." 

"  John  is  always  in  the  chair,  whatever  the 
-meeting  is  about.  Has  lady  Seaton  got  home 
again?" 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE.  215 

"They  hae  been  standing  on  tip-toes  for  her, 
for  twa  weeks.  She  may  hae  come,  and  she 
may  not." 

Faith  did  not  answer.  She  was  carrying  her 
pen  up  a  long  \ow  of  figures.  But  when  it  was 
added  and  done  with,  she  pushed  aside  the 
small  round  table,  and  placed  her  chair  before 
the  fire,  where  she  sat  musing,  or  vaguely 
answering  Phemie's  comments. 

"  We  shall  soon  be  in  the  vera  hole  o'  winter, 
ma'am." 

"  Yes.  I  was  thinking  the  ewes  had  better 
be  brought  at  once  to  the  lower  folds.  The 
snow  might  drift." 

"  And  that  would  be  a  miscomforture  no 
easy  to  get  o'er." 

"  Graeme  Fell  will  be  the  best  road,  I 
think." 

"Ay,  it  is  next  way  to  whar  you  want  them. 
Dickey  was  saying  he  hasna  seen  sae  mony 
haws  on  the  white-thorn  for  seven  years. 
'  Mony  haws,  mony  snaws/  that  is  well  kent." 

"  Dickey  is  a  clever  shepherd.  He  will  take 
good  care  of  the  sheep." 

"  And  his  twa  eldest  lads  are  weel  trained, 
likewise.  He  is  a  sensible  fayther.  He  has 


210  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

collared  his  bairns  early,  and  brought  them  up 
to  wark.  There's  naething  like  doing  it." 

"  What  ails  you  at  Effie  Gates  ?  I  thocht  she 
was  a  nice  lassie  enough." 

"  Ay,  she  has  some  sma'  sense,  but  a  fool  has 
the  guiding  o*  it." 

"  Weel,  weel,  Phemie,  they  must  rise  early 
that  can  please  every  body." 

"That's  sae,  Ma'am.  Every  ane  buckles  their 
belt  their  ain  way  ;  I'll  let  Moffat  tak  the  lass  he 
fancies — "  She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for 
through  the  snowy,  murky  air,  there  came  the 
sound  of  bells.  Faith  sat  upright  and  listened 
with  a  smile  upon  her  face.  Phemie  put  her 
knitting  down  and  said  : 

"  Bless  the  bells  !  They  bring  good  news  to 
Seaton  and  to  Graeme.  It  will  be  the  birth 
chime,  and  the  heir  has  come  to  his  hame." 

"  No  doubt !  Now,  then,  send  Gibby  quickly 
with  my  good  will,  and  ask  what  is  the  full 
good  news."  Then  she  lay  backward  in  her 
chair  with  closed  eyes,  listening  to  the  floating 
echoes  of  the  bells  and  thinking  vaguely  happy 
thoughts  that  drifted  between  Terres  and 
Agnes  and  her  two  nephews. 

As  she  thus  sat  there  was  a  knock  at  th? 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE.  217 

door.  She  rose  up  and  opened  it.  A  gentle- 
man and  two  boys  stood  there ;  but  before  she 
could  say  Come  in,  the  boys  cried  out,  "  Aunt 
Faith !  Aunt  Faith  !  "  and  threw  their  arms 
around  her  neck. 

Then  what  a  hubbub  of  delight  filled  Faith  s 
quiet  home.  The  gentleman  could  stay  but  a 
few  minutes,  he  had  an  engagement  to  keep 
in  Edinburgh,  and  must  catch  the  coach  pass- 
ing Moss  Kirtle  within  the  next  hour.  But 
he  had  brought  the  boys,  and  he  put  into  Faith's 
hand  a  letter  from  her  sister  Agnes.  Alas!  the 
last  letter  that  Agnes  would  ever  write.  The 
few  facts  relating  to  her  death  were  quickly 
told.  She  had  gone  with  Roland  to  St. 
Petersburgh,  and  there  Roland  had  taken  a 
cold  which  within  three  days  proved  fatal. 
"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  came  back  to  London 
with  the  company,  but  she  had  long  been  frail 
and  ill,  and  her  husband's  death  broke  her 
heart.  After  reaching  England  she  lived  only 
twelve  hours,  but  her  last  request  was  that  her 
sons  should  be  brought  to  you." 

And  oh!  in  the  midst  of  her  grief  how  proud 
she  was  of  the  charge  !  What  fine  handsome 
lads  they  were !  How  excitedly  she  called 


2l8  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

Phemie  to  come  and  see  them!  And  how 
happy  she  was  when  the  old  woman  turned 
their  faces  to  the  light  and  kissed  and  blessed 
them. 

Quickly  the  table  was  spread,  and  she  brought 
out  all  her  good  things  for  the  boys — cold 
meats,  and  thick  cream,  and  home-made  jams  ; 
wheat  loaf,  and  six  kinds  of  oat-meal  bread, 
every  one  finer  than  the  other — anacks,  janacks, 
haver  cake  and  such  like.  And  how  the  little 
chaps  ate,  and  drank,  and  talked;  laughing  and 
crying,  and  clinging  to  Faith's  hands,  as  if 
they  had  known  her  all  their  life-time. 

At  last  they  were  fast  asleep  in  their  grand- 
father's bed.  Faith  stole  in  on  tiptoes  to  look 
again  at  the  bright  faces  side  by  side  on  the 
great  white  pillow.  And  as  she  gazed,  memories 
of  little  Davie  came  silently  through  her  soul, 
and  she  knelt  down  by  the  sleeping  boys  and 
said  some  words  in  the  ear  of  God  that  filled 
her  soul  with  that  incomparable  and  incommu- 
nicable rapture  of  peace,  that  earth  can  neither 
give  nor  take  away. 

She  had  not  yet  opened  her  sister's  last  let- 
ter. She  did  not  feel  as  if  she  could  do  so, 
until  even  Phemie  had  left  her,  and  she  had  the 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARttr^shF,.  219 

sense  of  absolute  solitude.  It  v/as  written 
with  evidently  fast  failing  power,  'it  v/as  blotted 
with  the  last  tears  Agnes  would  ever  shed.  It 
was  like  a  child's  good-by,  though  full  of  a 
woman's  sorrow  and  hope,  and  it  closed  with  a 
startling  charge. 

"  Dear,  sweet,  Faith.  My  Roland  is  dead. 
He  was  all  of  life  to  me,  and  I  am  glad  to  fol- 
low him.  A  friend  will  bring  you  the  boys. 
They  are  your  boys,  now  ;  and  they  (.nust  kiss 
you  for  me.  Faith  dear,  I'll  ne'er  vex  you 
more  now,  and  I'm  not  feared  to  die  ;  not  a  bit 
feared  to  meet  either  my  fayther  or  mother  now. 
For  what  was  not  understood  between  us  here, 
God  will  make  all  right  over  yonder.  At  this 
hour,  earth  is  of  small  account  to  me,  but  right 
is  right,  though  we  live  or  die,  and  I  must  leave 
you  to  right  a  wrong  Roland  and  I  have  not 
been  permitted  to  meddle  with.  I  am  at  my 
last  hour  and  must  say  in  few  words  the  whole 
of  my  care.  Roland  was  really  the  true  lord 
Graeme.  He  always  knew  it.  But  he  liked 
his  own  life  of  change  and  triumph  better  than 
living  in  Graeme  castle,  and  we  aye  thought  to 
sort  the  wrong  for  our  sons  that  we  did  not 
heed  sorting  for  ourselves.  You  must  get  the 


220  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

proofs.  Either  at  Agara  in  Greece,  or  at  An, 
cona  in  Italy  they  will  be  found.  It  is  the  last 
words  I  write.  They  are -true  words,  though  I 
can  say  no  more  now.  You  must  do  all.  In 
death,  your  loving  sister, 

AGNES  GRAEME/ 

Faith  could  hardly  credit  her  own  eyesight. 
She  read  the  letter  word  by  word  over  again, 
and  then  sat  long,  with  tightly-drawn  lips  and 
dropped  eyes,  considering  the  situation  in  which 
she  found  herself.  In  that  hour  she  discovered 
also  that  Lord  Graeme  had  a  far  greater  hold 
upon  her  liking  than  she  had  supposed,  or  had 
been  willing  hitherto  to  admit.  To  right  her 
nephew  meant  loss  of  position,  loss  of  name, 
and  property,  perhaps  loss  of  honor,  to  him. 
And  what  of  Terres?  A  son  had  just  been 
born  to  her.  At  present  he  was  heir  of  Seaton 
and  Graeme ;  Terres  was  precisely  the  woman 
who  would  not  only  resent  her  action  whether 
it  was  right  or  wrong,  but  also  passionately  de* 
fend  her  own  interests.  Davie  and  Matthew 
were  most  likely  unaware  of  their  true  position, 
and  she  meant  them  to  have  every  thing  she 
possessed,  would  it  do  any  good  then  for  her 
to  discover  a  sin  so  long  hid? 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE.  22 s 

So  far,  with  many  extended  ramifications  of 
thought,  her  reverie  carried  her ;  then  with  a 
start  she  recovered  herself.  She  laid  her  open 
hand  firmly  and  positively  down  upon  the  table 
and  said,  "  Faith  Harribee,  sin  is  sin,  and  right 
is  right,  and  lapse  of  time  alters  nothing. 
What  are  you  reasoning  with  the  deil  for?  If 
David  is  the  born  lord  o'  Graeme  it  isna  for 
you  to  take  thocht  o'  your  ain  feelings,  or  your 
ain  fears  or  friendships.  The  lad  must  hae 
what  belongs  to  him.  But  it  isna  a  thing  to  be 
done  in  a  hurry,  what  has  waited  so  long,  may 
wait  for  the  best  hour ;  and  I  must  hae  counsel 
and  help  beyond  my  ain  wisdom.  Sae,  I'll  e'en 
say  a  word  to  Sandy  Todd." 

Sandy  Todd  was  a  lawyer  of  great  local  emi- 
nence ;  a  self-contained,  pawky,  prudent  man, 
who  advised  Faith  in  all  her  business,  as  he  had 
done  Faith's  father  when  he  was  alive.  How- 
ever, her  first  care  had  to  be  given  to  the  boys' 
lessons.  There  was  a  fine  school  near  Hawick, 
and  she  placed  them  there.  But  every  Friday 
night  they  returned  to  Harribee  for  two  days, 
and  Faith  and  Phemie  and  every  servant  in  the 
house  felt  the  delightful  change  this  weekly 
visit  made  in  its  quiet  routine.  There  was  an 


222  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

air  of  preparation  for  it  on  all  the  intervening 
days,  and  the  pleasure  of  afresh  holiday  in  each 
home-coming. 

Saturday,  if  fine,  was  Faith's  great  day.  She 
always  went  to  the  folds,  and  the  boys  helped 
her  up  the  steep  places  and  chatted  to  her  of  a 
hundred  things,  past  and  present,  all  the  way. 
They  were  two  handsome  lads.  David  had  his 
father's  gay  temper  and  high-mettled  courage, 
with  a  physiognomy  decidedly  Graeme.  Mat- 
thew resembled  his  mother's  father.  He  had 
his  great  frame,  calm  face,  and  massive  head, 
and  was,  as  Faith  proudly  told  herself,  a  true 
Harribee.  They  made  a  wonderful  change  in 
the  life  of  the  old  farm.  Phemie  had  to  knit 
for  them  and  Faith  had  their  clothing  to  look 
after  and  their  books  and  their  lessons. 

Above  all  she  laid  upon  herself  their  religious 
training  ;  for  though  she  highly  valued  educa- 
tion, she  set  true,  sound  principles  far  beyond 
it.  And  she  was  determined  they  should  stand 
by  the  creed  for  which  their  ancestors  had 
fought  and  suffered.  Sitting  around  the  fire- 
side, and  standing  upon  the  preacher's  stone, 
she  told  them  again  and  again  the  religious  his- 
tory of  their  race — painted  the  men  as  women 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRISES.  223 

paint  their  heroes,  a  very  little  lower  than 
the  angels.  And  their  play  also  cost  her  many 
an  anxious  hour  and  extra  walk.  She  quickly 
learned  what  mothers  feel  about  frozen  ponds 
and  foot-ball  and  horseback  riding,  and  bathing 
and  swimming  and  rowing.  But  she  loved 
them  better  every  day,  and  they  grew  grandly 
under  her  care  in  all  respects. 

For  some  weeks  these  unusual  duties  and 
pleasures  kept  her  fully  employed  ;  though  she 
had  never  forgotten  for  one  day,  the  grave  duty 
regarding  the  boy's  future  which  lay  before  her. 
But  she  was  a  woman  inclined  to  cautious 
movements.  It  was  a  secret  of  great  import- 
ance, touching  the  interests  of  people  who  were 
each,  in  their  own  way,  dear  to  her.  Twice  she 
went  to  Todd's  and  came  back  without  saying 
a  word  about  the  business  that  really  took  her 
there.  On  her  third  visit  the  old  man  was 
quite  alone,  and  quite  at  leisure,  and  insensibly 
they  fell  into  a  conversation  full  of  reminis- 
cence regarding  her  father,  and  events  contem- 
porary with  his  life,  as  Faith  remembered  it. 
It  was  a  snowy  day,  and  the  old  lawyer  stirred 
the  fire  frequently  to  his  recollections.  Sud- 
denly he  said, 


*24  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"  It  was  a  sair  blow  to  your  fayther  when 
that  bonnie  sister  o*  yours  ran  awa'  with  that 
play-acting  by-son  o'  the  Graeme." 

"  He  was  no  by-son.  He  was  the  lord  o' 
Graeme  his  ain  self." 

"  What  are  you  saying,  woman.  Dinna  let 
your  tongue  get  awa'  from  your  senses." 

"  I  am  saying  that  Roland  Graeme,  my  sis- 
ter's husband,  was  Lord  William's  lawful  son  ; 
and  that  my  nephew  David  is  at  this  vera  hour 
the  true  lord  o'  that  name  and  ilk." 

"  Presarve  us  a'  Faith.  Your  words  are  action- 
able. Keep  a  calm  sough,  woman." 

"  I  must  tell  you  ever}' thing  now,  and  you 
must  act  in  the  matter  for  me,  Todd,  for  I  can 
trust  your  wisdom." 

"  Ay,  you  may  do  that.  I'm  no  the  man 
to  do  fool's  wark  or  go  fool's  errands." 

Then  she  told  him  plainly  all  she  knew.  But 
Todd  pointed  out  that  it  was  "  naething  but  a 
suspicion.  You  havena  ane  scrap  o'  paper  to 
prove  your  big  words  Faith,  and  you  may  be  as 
'  morally  certain '  as  you  like,  the  law  kens 
naething  aboot  moral  certainty.  The  scratch 
o' .a  pen  would  be  mair  to  the  purpose." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  want  you  to  secure. 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARR1BEE.  225 

Can  you  go  to  Italy  and  Greece  and  look  for 
these  records  '  " 

"Are  you  daft  lassie?  Me  go  to  foreign 
countries  !  Into  the  vera  presence  o'  the  scar- 
let woman  o'  Papistry  at  that!  Na,  na!  I'll 
no  risk  my  body,  no  to  speak  o'  my  soul,  among 
Romans  and  heathens.  For  tha  Greeks  are 
naething  but  Pagans.  I  ken  weel  when  I  was 
at  schule,  learning  anent  their  gods  and  god- 
desses ;  and  my  fayther  gied  me  a  gude  lar- 
roping  for  it — and  weel  I  deserved  it — wasting 
my  time  o'er  such  pairfect  nonsense,  so  to  say, 
even  down  sin." 

"  Then  Todd,  tell  me  who  to  send." 

"  There's  men  who  lay  their  lives  oot  for 
such  dark  business,  and  I  ken  whar  to  hail 
them  from.  Gae  your  ways  hame  ;  I'll  get  the 
right  man  for  the  wark,  and  gie  him  a'  the 
directions  he  needs.'! 

"  Thank  you,  Todd." 

"  Ou,  ay  ;  thanks  are  weel  enough,  and  I'll 
no  refuse  them,  but  I  must  understand  mis- 
tress, that  you  will  be  fully  responsible  for  the 
wherewith.  A  lawyer's  charges  are  honest  and 
above  board.  Any  fool  kens  what  they'll  be, 
but  the  deil  himself  could  na  tell  what  charges 


226  A    BONDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

may  come  anent  this  under-your-hand  bit  o* 
business." 

"  You  know  weel  Todd,  that  I'm  fully  able 
to  meet  charges,  only  I  trust  to  you  to  see  that 
I  am  not  wronged  in  them." 

"  They'll  be  clever  folk  that  cheat  my  clients. 
I  sail  pay  your  siller  oot,  as  if  it  were  my  ain ; 
Faith. 

"  And  you  will  be  sure  to  keep  all  secret  ?  " 

"  Tuts  woman  !  I'm  not  a  natural  born  talker, 
and  I  dinna  talk  professionally  without  being 
paid  to  do  sae.  Do  you  ken  any  body  up  or 
down  Esk  Water  rich  enough  to  pay  me  to 
open  my  mouth  against  you  ?  Gae  your  ways 
hame,  Miss  Harribee,  and  dinna  think  that  you 
hae  a  monopoly  of  a'  the  wisdom  and  kindness, 
and  honesty  in  the  warld." 

The  interview  quite  satisfied  Faith.  She 
understood  the  man,  and  had  not  a  doubt  that 
before  she  arrived  at  home,  he  had  taken  the 
the  first  step  towards  securing  an  efficient  and 
reliable  agent. 

Amid  all  these  duties  she  found  time  to  go 
and  see  Lady  Seaton  more  than  once.  And 
she  could  not  help  looking  with  a  kind  curios- 
ity at  the  baby  Terres  put  into  her  arms. 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE.  227 

Innocently  enough  he  was  usurping  her  David's 
right.  She  almost  wished  she  had  never  heard 
of  this  right.  It  seemed  to  put  every  other 
thing  wrong. 

One  Friday  afternoon  she  drove  to  Seaton 
Court.  All  was  ready  for  the  boys  at  noon, 
and  she  did  not  feel  able  to  settle  herself  to 
work  of  any  kind  until  she  had  seen  them  ;  and 
it  would  be  at  least  four  or  five  hours  before  they 
arrived.  "  I'll  take  the  light  tax  cart,  Phemie," 
she  said,  "  and  go  my  ways  to  see  Lady  Terres 
for  an  hour  or  mair." 

It  was  a  dull,  gray  day,  but  Faith  did  not 
mind  gray  weather.  For  the  baby  lord,  she 
had  procured  from  Glasgow  one  of  those  fine 
sewed  muslin  robes  for  which  that  city  was 
famous,  and  Phemie  had  added  to  the  present 
a  pair  of  knitted  lambs'-wool  socks.  Faith's 
heart  was  full  of  happy  thoughts.  She  antici- 
pated the  pleasure  of  a  chat  with  Terres ;  she 
anticipated  the  pleasure  of  her  boys'  visit. 
She  had  no  cares,  and  she  had  many  a  bright 
hope. 

Terres  was  delighted  to  see  her.  Her  pretty 
present  was  just  the  one  nobody  else  had 
thought  of.  "  It  is  grand  enough  for  a  christen- 


228  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

ing  robe,  Faith,"  she  said,  "  and  indeed,  we  are 
reckoning  upon  you  for  the  godmother." 

"  That  I  can  ne'er  be,  Terres.  You  ken  in 
my  ain  kirk,  the  bairn's  mother  stands  wi'  the 
bairn  at  his  baptizing,  and  wha  sae  fit  to  do  it  ? 
If  you  dinna  teach  the  wee  laddie  his  duty  to 
God  and  his  ain  soul,  it's  no  vera  likely  any 
other  woman  will  do  your  duty.  Also,  I  hae 
twa  lads  o'  my  ain,  now." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  of  them  ;  the  children  of 
your  sister  Agnes."  She  grew  suddenly  quiet, 
and  ended  her  reflections  by  lifting  her  own 
boy  from  his  satin-lined  cradle,  and  kissing 
him  with  a  fervor  which  scarcely  required 
words  to  explain.  Faith  knew  the  thoughts  in 
her  heart.  She  knew  that  Terres  said  in  that 
kiss — "  right  or  wrong,  my  boy,  your  mother 
will  assert  your  claim,  and  suffer  no  one  to  put 
you  aside." 

Almost  immediately  after  this  silent  act  of 
motherly  devotion,  Lord  Graeme  entered  the 
room.  His  face  lightened  all  over  when  he 
saw  Faith,  and  he  made  the  time  pass  so  pleas- 
antly that  she  forgot  the  hour  until  the  falling 
snow  warned  her  of  her  distance  from  home. 
Then  she  rose  in  a  sudden  hurry,  and  Lord 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE.  229 

Graeme  went  to  order  her  cart.  When  it 
came  to  the  door,  he  was  sitting  in  it,  holding 
the  reins,  and  cloaked  for  the  coming  storm. 

"  I  am  going  to  drive  you,  Miss  Harribee," 
he  said.  "  We  shall  have  a  heavy  fall,  and  I 
know  the  road  down  Seaton  Fell  better  than 
you  do."  She  wanted  to  oppose  the  offer,  but 
could  not.  Several  servants  were  standing 
around ;  she  disliked  to  dispute  and  refuse 
before  them.  It  seemed  better  to  quietly  take 
the  seat  beside  the  voluntary  driver,  and  suffer 
herself  to  be  comfortably  tucked  in  from  the 
coming  storm. 

Lord  Graeme  was  in  the  highest  spirits. 
"  Why  Faith!  "  he  cried,  "to  have  you  beside 
me  is  such  a  piece  of  luck  as  I  never  dreamed 
of !  To  have  you  all  to  myself !  A  hundred 
thousand  thanks  to  the  snow  clouds!"  He 
rattled  away  like  a  school-boy.  It  was  the 
most  glorious  drive  he  had  ever  taken.  He 
wished  every  mile  was  ten  times  as  long; 
and  when  they  reached  Harribee,  he  vowed  he 
was  so  perished  with  hunger  and  cold  that 
simple  charity  required  Faith  to  ask  him  to 
supper. 

He  had  not  named  the  boys,  he  had  not  seen 


230  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

them.  Certainly  he  had  heard  of  their  arrival, 
but  during  this  happy  drive  he  had  quite  for- 
gotten  them,  until  he  entered  the  glowing 
house-place  with  Faith.  Then  they  sprang  to 
meet  her  with  clasping  arms  and  resounding 
kisses.  It  was  a  shock  to  Graeme,  a  shock  so 
great,  that  for  a  few  minutes,  he  could  not  rec- 
ognize nor  understand  the  feelings  the  children 
had  aroused. 

He  looked  at  them  curiously  and  with  some 
irritation.  Their  presence  would  at  least  spoil 
the  confidential  talk  he  hoped  to  have  with 
Faith.  So  far,  they  were  an  intrusion,  and  a 
disagreeable  one.  But  as  the  supper  progressed, 
he  watched  them  and  listened  to  them  with  a 
singular  interest,  casting  many  a  furtive  glance 
at  David,  but  talking  more  to  Matthew  who 
had  a  grave  and  quiet  manner  that  courted 
confidential  chat. 

After  supper  they  went  early  to  their  room, 
but  Lord  Graeme  drew  his  chair  closer  to  the 
hearth,  and  with  Faith's  approval  lit  a  cigar, 
and  smoked  slowly  and  silently  during  the  hour 
in  which  she  was  receiving  her  servants'  reports, 
and  giving  her  last  orders.  He  did  not  appear 
to  be  watching  her,  but  he  saw  her  slightest 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE.  231 

movement,  and  even  speculated  upon  the  bits 
of  conversation  he  heard  her  hold  with  men 
and  women.  But  in  the  main  his  thoughts 
were  with  the  two  sleeping  boys.  David  was 
so  like  his  brother  William,  Matthew  had  a 
look  which  constantly  recalled  Faith,  and  which 
had  perhaps  unconsciously  inclined  his  grand 
uncle  to  him.  At  that  hour  he  wished  heartily 
that  the  thing  he  had  done  was  undone. 

When  at  last  Faith  took  her  knitting  and  sat 
down,  the  night  was  wearing  toward  eight 
o'clock.  In  thrt  simple  household,  he  knew 
that  he  would  be  expected  to  leave  within  an 
hour,  and  he  turned  to  Faith  with  a  face  that 
needed  no  words  to  interpret  it. 

Alas !  he  saw  no  response  in  her  eyes  to  the 
question  he  asked.  There  was  indeed  a  vague 
trouble  in  them  that  puzzled  him,  a  something 
that  was  a  blending  of  love  and  sorrow  and 
reproach.  It  startled  him  by  its  resemblance  to 
some  feeling  in  his  own  heart.  But  it  was  im- 
possible she  could  know  any  thing  of  his  sin  ! 
And  yet  he  believed  Roland  had  judged  him. 
And  Roland's  children  might  have  heard  their 
father's  suspicions,  and  repeated  them  to  their 
aunt.  It  was  a  new  fear.  He  could  not  put  it 


232  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

down.  He  seemed  to  read  it  in  Faith's  face. 
Yet  he  stooped  toward  her  and  took  the 
knitting  from  her  hands,  and  held  them  firmly 
as  he  said : 

"  You  know  what  words  are  in  my  heart,  and 
on  my  lips,  Faith.  You  know  how  long  and 
honestly  I  have  loved  you.  When  will  you  be 
my  wife?" 

"  There  are  new  and  dear  charges  come  into 
my  life.  What  hae  you  to  say  anent  them?" 

"  I  will  make  them  as  welcome  in  Graeme  as 
if  they  were  my  own  boys.  Upon  my  honor  I 
will." 

She  took  her  hands  quickly  from  him,  and 
said,  "  You  hae  given  me  a  sair  heart-ache  this 
night,  lord,  but  ane  thing  is  sure  as  sure  can  be. 
I  canna  say  yes  or  no  to  you,  yet." 

"  You  love  me  Faith  ?  ever  so  little,  you  love 
me?" 

"  I'll  no  say  but  what  I  think  mair  o'  you 
than  of  other  folks  ;  but  waes  me  !  We  may 
love  many  a  thing,  and  want  many  anither 
thing,  that  would  neither  be  right  for  ourselves 
nor  yet  gude  for  others.  I  am  walking  on  a 
dark  road  ;  to-night,  at  least,  I  canna  let  you 
keep  me  company." 


YOUNG  LIVES  IN  HARRIBEE.  233 

"But  some  other  time,  Faith?  Say  yes, 
dear  woman  !  " 

"  I  canna  tell.  It  will  depend  maistly  upon 
yourself — I'm  no  ready  to  speak.  I  dinna  ken 
my  own  heart.  I'm  no  sure  o'  what  is  my 
right  way  yet." 

"  Then  I  must  wait  and  hope." 

"  Ay,  and  you  must  be  taking  the  road  also  \ 
for  it's  candle  douping,  and  there's  folk  that 
would  see  wrangif  their  e'en  were  out." 

"  Then  good-night,  Faith  !  I  know  that  you 
love  me  a  little  ;  and  to-night  I  know,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  you  fear  and  doubt  me  also." 

"  Where  did  you  learn  sae  much,  lord  ?  " 

"  In  my  heart." 

And  he  rode  away  into  the  snow,  suddenly 
full  of  the  new  terror  that  had  come  to  him — 
the  terror  that  Faith  suspected  his  sin.  If  at 
last  it  was  to  stand  between  them  !  Oh,  how 
he  regretted  it  !  And  so, 

**  With  repentance  his  only  companion  he  lay, 
And  a  dismal  companion  is  she." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

RIGHT,  BEFORE  EVERY  THING* 

"  It  fortifies  my  soul  to  know 

That,  though  I  perish,  Truth  is  so. 
That,  howsoe'er  I  stray  or  range, 
Whate'er  I  do,  Thou  dost  not  change. 
I  steadier  step  when  I  recall. 
That  if  I  slip,  Thou  dost  not  fall." 

— CLOUGH. 

THE  winter  proved  to  be  a  very  hard  one. 
The  snow  lay  deep,  the  shepherds  had  a 
bitter  time  of  it,  and  many  sheep  were  '  smoored  ' 
in  the  drifts,  But  inside  Harribee  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  the  purest  home  pleasure.  Phern- 
ie  and  Faith  had  such  wonderful  talks  and 
consultations  about  the  boys.  Such  confi- 
dences to  share  at  the  week  ends  !  There  was 
not  a  scholar  in  the  school  with  whom  they 
were  not,  in  a  certain  way,  familiar.  If  David 
and  Matthew  liked  them,  they  did  also.  If 
David  and  Matthew  disapproved  them,  then 
Faith  and  Phemie  shook  their  heads  when  they 


RIGHT,  BEFORE  EVERY  THING.  235 

were  named,  and  were  fully  convinced  of  their 
original  and  acquired  sins.  Very  frequently, 
so  frequently  indeed  that  Faith  was  compelled 
to  notice  the  circumstance,  Lord  Graeme  found 
an  excuse  to  call  at  Harribee  on  Saturday. 
One  Friday  night  he  stopped  just  as  the  boys 
arrived,  complained  that  his  horse  was  sick,  and 
asked  to  remain  until  Faith  could  send  a  man 
to  the  castle  for  a  fresh  mount  for  him.  He 
made  himself  so  interesting  to  the  little  fellows 
that  they  opened  up  for  him  their  whole  budget 
of  school  news ;  and  when  he  left,  he  '  tipped  ' 
them  so  handsomely  that  Faith  felt  compelled 
to  interfere. 

But  Graeme  persisted  in  standing  by  his  gift. 
"  The  boys  belong  to  me,  as  well  as  to  you, 
Faith,"  he  said  ;  "  they  are  Graemes,  not  Harri- 
bees,  and  I  know  what  a  tip  is,  to  a  lad  at 
school." 

She  thought  comparatively  little  of  the  in- 
vestigation which  she  had  left  with  Sandy 
Todd.  She  did  not  visit  him  again  on  the  sub- 
ject. Perhaps,  in  her  most  secret  conscious- 
ness she  wished  that  it  would  prove  unsuccess- 
ful. She  did  not  want  to  think  so  evilly  of 
Lord  Graeme.  She  did  not  dare  to  imagine 


236  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

what  course  she  must  take  if  the  assertions  of 
Roland  and  Agnes  were  correct.  In  the  mean- 
time Graeme  was  certainly  gaining  a  great  hold 
upon  her  affection.  The  boys  were  a  common 
ground  upon  which  they  met  with  a  familiarity 
impossible  under  any  other  condition.  She 
began  to  look  with  something  very  like  love 
upon  the  elegant,  handsome  man,  who  was  so 
happy  on  her  hearth-stone ;  who  watched  her 
with  such  unspeakable  admiration ;  who  took 
such  an  interest  in  David  and  Matthew,  and 
who  was  so  favorably  thought  of  by  them. 
When  David  told  of  some  race  in  which  he  had 
been  the  winner,  or  some  fight  in  which  he  had 
been  the  victor,  or  when  Matthew  recited  his 
last  Greek  chorus,  or  showed  some  extraordi- 
nary prize  of  merit,  Graeme  and  Faith  were 
sure  to  exchange  glances  of  pride  and  satisfac- 
tion about  the  matter;  and  these  glances  were 
wonderful  vehicles  of  more  personal  affection 
and  interest.  In  fact,  without  saying  one  word 
of  love,  Graeme  was  wooing  Faith  in  the  most 
irresistible  way  possible  to  a  woman  of  her 
character  and  position. 

In  the  spring  she  had  a  visit  from  Todd.    He 
took  her  a  little  by  surprise  when  he  came. 


RIGHT,  BEFORE  EVERY  THING.          237 

First,  because  she  was  not  a  woman  who  brought 
to-morrow,  and  next  week,  and  next  month 
into  to-day — not  one  of  those  restless  natures 
who  are  forever  calling  to  some  one  in  the 
watch  tower,  "  Do  you  see  anybody  coming?" 
Her  nature  was  calm  because  it  was  moulded 
in  grand  proportions,  without  the  littlenesses 
that  produce  '  fuss.'  Then,  it  was  also  a  very 
unusual  thing  for  Todd  to  leave  his  office. 

"  But  the  air  was  sae  caller,  and  the  wind  sae 
fresh,  I  thocht  I  would  hae  a  mouthfu'  of  the 
spring,"  he  said,  as  he  lighted  from  his  pony  at 
Faith's  door. 

He  did  not  immediately  speak  of  the  business 
on  which  he  had  come.  A  variety  of  topics 
interested  him  during  the  early  lunch  which 
was  spread  for  his  benefit.  But  as  he  sat 
smoking  his  pipe  to  a  glass  of  toddy  he  relieved 
his  mind  of  the  news  he  had  brought. 

"  You  are  five  hundred  pounds  oot  of  pocket, 
Miss  Harribee." 

"  Then  you  have  found  no  proofs  ?  " 

"  Not  the  scratch  o'  a  pen." 

"  Vera  gude !  I  dinna  feel  as  if  I  were  out 
of  pocket." 

"  Noo,  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will 


238  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

neither  meddle  nor  mak'  in  other  folk's  business 
again.  Five  hundred  pounds !  Gertie  !  You 
have  paid  for  your  curiosity." 

"  Naething  found  ?     Naething  heard  ?  " 

"  Naething  at  a'  found.  Plenty  o'  talk  from 
thae  foreign  creatures  he  heard ;  but  what  o 
that  ?  " 

"Talk?" 

Talk  anent  Mr.  Roland  Graeme's  mither.  But 
Lord !  what  do  they  ken  anent  gude  morals. 
They  called  her  '  my  lady/  but  that  means  just 
naething." 

"  Vera  weel,  Todd.  L'et  the  matter  drop — 
and  forget  it." 

"  It  were  a  pity  to  refuse  you,  when  you  seek 
sae  little.  I  dinna  care  to  mak'  an  enemy  o' 
lord  Graeme  ;  and  I  hae  been  kent  a'  my  life 
for  keeping  my  mouth  shut  and  my  een  open." 

At  first  Faith  felt  a  decided  satisfaction  in 
the  news  Todd  had  brought.  She  was  light- 
hearted  about  it.  She  had  not  fully  understood 
until  the  fear  was  lifted  from  her  mind  how 
great  would  have  been  her  sorrow,  if  it  had 
been  confirmed.  She  thought  still  more  kindly 
of  Graeme,  for  she  wished  to  atone  for  the 
wrong  she  had  done  him  in  her  own  mind.  And 


RIGHT,  BEFORE  EVERY  THING.          239 

she  did  not  feel  as  if  the  boys  were  any  losers 
by  this  loss  of  a  false  hope.  There  was  enough 
in  Harribee  to  give  them  both  a  good  start  in 
life,  and  she  had  a  firm  belief  in  the  ability  of 
her  nephews  to  make  their  own  place  in  the 
world. 

For  an  hour  or  two  she  was  very  happy. 
Then  suddenly  she  knew  not  how,  she  could 
not  determine  from  what  source,  a  most  positive 
conviction  of  the  truth  of  her  sister's  dying 
declaration  forced  itself  into  her  mind.  It  came 
with  a  power  apparently  unreasonable,  and  yet 
not  to  be  reasoned  away.  Involuntarily,  she 
found  herself  saying — "  It  is  true,  for  all  that ! 
Agnes  is  right  in  spite  o'  Todd  ! "  She  was 
more  miserable  than  she  had  been  before. 

That  very  evening  she  met  Graeme  on  the 
moor.  She  had  been  up  the  fell  to  speak  with 
her  head  shepherd,  and  was  hurrying  home,  for 
the  sun  had  set,  and  the  night  was  falling  damp 
and  chilly.  Graeme  had  his  gun  with  him  and 
some  dogs,  but  he  saw  her,  and  hurried  forward 
to  meet  her.  She  had  never  before  seen  such 
a  dark  and  hopeless  look  upon  his  face.  He 
did  not  seem  able  to  talk,  and  every  effort  ended 
in  a  few  monosyllables. 


240  A   LORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

•'You  are  ill,  lord." 

"  No>  Faith,  I  am  unhappy.  I  had  a  bad 
dream  last  night,  and  it  has  haunted  me  all 
day.  I  have  always  laughed  at  dreams,  but  I 
cannot  rid  myself  of  this  one." 

"  Put  a  bad  dream  awa'  with  a  gude  deed. 
Is  there  nae  body  you  can  do  a  kindness  to  ?  " 

"  There  are  always  the  boys.  Suppose  I  send 
a  handsome  tip  to  them." 

"  They  dinna  need  it.  That  will  do  you  no 
gude." 

"  They  are  the  only  people  on  earth  it  will  do 
me  good  to  be  kind  to." 

It  was  not  the  words  themselves,  but  the 
remorse  in  his  sombre  eyes,  and  the  weary, 
hopeless  look  on  his  face,  which  affected  Faith. 
In  some  way,  not  quite  evident  to  her,  she 
understood  from  what  cause  the  man  was  suffer- 
ing. There  were  a  few  moments  of  painful 
silence — a  few  moments  in  which  all  her  bright 
dreams  and  hopes  passed  into  a  dark  cloud  ; 
then  she  said  with  an  evident  effort — 

"  If  you  would  tell  me,  lord." 

"Tell  you  what,  Faith?" 

"  I  thocht  maybe  you  had  a  trouble  on  your 
heart." 


RIGHT,  BEFORE  EVERY  THING.          241 

He  did  not  answer.  They  walked  on  in  the 
misty  twilight  a  little  further  apart  than  usual, 
until  they  came  to  Harribee  Gate.  Then  he 
said  good-night,  and  Faith  watched  the 
mournful  figure  turn  away  from  her,  and 
gradually  become  a  part  of  the  gloomy  land- 
scape. 

And  not  even  the  bright  fireside,  nor  the 
comfortable  tea,  nor  Phemie's  cheery  bits  of 
gossip  could  put  away  the  lonesome,  unhappy 
memory  of  the  man  she  loved.  Yes,  it  had 
taken  but  this  one  revelation  of  him  in  trouble, 
to  discover  to  Faith  how  truly  and  how  tenderly 
she  loved  him.  With  all  his  faults  she  loved 
him.  She  shirked  none  of  them  that  night,  as 
she  sat  musing  on  her  quiet  hearth.  And  she 
found  then  how  easy  it  is  for  a  loving  woman 
to  excuse  the  unworthiness  of  her  idol.  "  I'm 
no  faultless  myself,"  she  whispered.  "  I'm 
full  o'  faults.  And  while  we  were  a'  sinners, 
God  loved  us.  Forbye,  there  is  a  deal  o'  gude 
in  Graeme — he  likes  the  lads — he  is  sorry  for 
the  wrong  he  has  done  them — he  is  in  a  sair 
strait — I'm  no  sure  myself  what  I  would  do  in 
it.  Oh,  Graeme  !  Graeme  ;  I  ne'er  thocht  to 
love  you  as  I  do  this  hour." 


242  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

While  Faith  sat  musing  thus,  Graeme  had 
taken  a  very  decided  step.  He  reached  Seaton 
Court  about  seven  o'clock,  and  found  his  sister 
at  dinner.  Seaton  was  in  Edinburgh,  and 
he  looked  upon  his  absence  as  a  piece  of  good 
fortune.  Terres  was  always  delighted  to  see 
her  brother,  but  this  night  his  gloom  and  silence 
offended  her. 

"  I  will  send  for  the  baby,"  she  said.  "  He  is 
growing  so  fast  and  so  bonnie,  Tilbert.  Perhaps 
he  may  charm  the  evil  spirit  out  of  you." 

"  Do  not  send  for  him.  I  do  not  care  to  see 
the  child." 

"What  on  earth?  or  rather,  what  from  some 
lower  place  possesses  you?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  the  child.  That  is 
enough." 

"  Quite.  May  I  ask  why  you  came  here  to- 
night ?  It  is  my  opinion  you  have  been  drink- 
ing your  senses  away." 

"  I  have  not  touched  wine  for  a  week.  Terres, 
I  had  a  dream  about  Will — " 

"Oh,  this  is  delicious!  Tilbert  Graeme 
frightened  at  his  own  dreams !" 

"  It  is  not  my  dream.  It  came  from  some 
one,  from  somewhere,  beyond  me." 


RIGHT,  BEFORE  EVERY  THING.          243 

"  Nonsense  !  You  have  been  worrying  your- 
self ever  since  those  boys  of  Roland's  came  to 
Harribee!  You  think  of  them  continually ;  of 
course  you  dream  of  them.  Don't  be  a  fool, 
Tilbert." 

"  I  think,  on  the-  contrary,  that  I  am  coming 
to  my  senses.  Terres,  you  are  well  married. 
Your  boy  has  the  lordship  of  Seaton ;  why 
hamper  him  with  another,  to  which  he  has  no 
right  ?  " 

"  Pick  your'  words  more  prudently,  Tilbert. 
I  may  have  other  children.  I  am  not  going  to 
lift  my  little  finger  from  Graeme.  If  you  want 
to  be  a  fool,  I  shall  not  let  you." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  your  permission.  I  am  sure 
that  Roland's  eldest  son  ought  to  have 
Graeme." 

"  Indeed  !  Pray,  what  of  yourself  ?  Will 
you  marry  Faith  Harribee  and  be  her  head 
shepherd  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  heaven  on  earth  compared  with 
the  false  position  in  which  I  stand  to-night." 

"  I  hope  you  may  die  before  you  perpetrate 
such  a  piece  of  mad  folly,  Tilbert." 

"  I  hope  not,  until  I  have  found  courage  to 
commit  it.  Terres,  if  you  go  into  one  of  your 


244  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

old  tempers  I  shall  leave  you.  They  are 
Seaton's  privilege  now.  I  want  you  to  accus- 
tom yourself  to  the  idea,  that  Graeme  is  going 
to  David  Graeme." 

"  You  don't  love  me  now,  Tilbert.  I  used 
to  be  first  of  all  with  you.  " 

"  I  am  no  longer  first  with  you.  You  put 
Seaton  before  me.  Very  well." 

"  It  is  Faith  Harribee's  doing.  Oh,  I  know 
it  is.  How  I  do  hate  that  woman  !" 

"  In  an  indirect  way,  it  is  Faith's  doing.  You 
are  right.  To  live  an  hour  or  two  occasionally 
in  Faith's  company  is  to  catch  virtue.  Many 
things  bok  differently  to  me,  since  I  knew 
Faith." 

"  She  shall  never  enter  Seaton  Court  again." 

"  That  will  be  your  loss." 

"  And  pray,  when  are  you  going  to  confess 
to  her?  Oh,  I  know  you,  Tilbert.  It  is  simply 
your  last  fling  for  her  favor.  You  want  to  per- 
suade her  she  has  reformed  you.  Pshaw !  You 
can  not  deceive  me." 

"  I  shall  tell  Faith  as  soon  as  I  get  courage 
to  tell  her.  I  believe  it  will  separate  us  for- 
ever.  All  the  same,  I  will  do  right — if  I  can." 

"  Have  you   thought  of  the  consequences ' 


RIGHT,  BEFORE  EVERY  THING.          245 

You  know  well  that  she  is  made  of  that  old 
Covenanting  grit.  Though  her  heart  breaks, 
though  the  heavens  fall,  she  will  prosecute  you 
for  robbing  Roland.  The  savings  of  all  these 
years  will  be  devoured  in  paying  back  rentals. 
You  may  perhaps  save  yourself  a  convict's  doom 
for  lack  of  evidence  of  intention,  but  public 
opinion  will  pillory  you.  Think  of  the  shame 
I  must  suffer  with  you — and  my  poor,  innocent 
little  baby  also.  Have  pity  upon  me,  Tilbert !  " 
She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  sobbed 
bitterly.  Her  tears  were  genuine  ones ;  he 
tound  it  hard  to  resist  them ;  yet  he  pushed 
her  gently  away  from  him,  and  left  the  room. 

She  had  no  idea  he  had  gone  back  to  Graeme 
until  an  hour  afterward.  Then  she  was  very 
unhappy.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had 
found  her  tears  and  caresses  had  been  inef- 
fectual with  her  brother. 

Early  next  morning  she  went  to  Graeme 
Castle.  Lord  Graeme  had  left  it  at  daylight. 
The  rapidity  and  suddenness  of  this  move  dis- 
concerted her.  She  walked  up  and  down  her 
old  home  full  of  fear  and  anger.  But  the  an- 
cient place,  though  the  air  seemed  heavy  with 
evil  memories,  roused  in  her  a  passion  of  rare. 


24&  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

devotion,  which  made  her,  for  the  time,  feel 
capable  of  any  deed  necessary  to  prevent  her 
loss  of  all  interest  in  it.  In  her  mind  it  had 
come  to  be  a  question  of  whether  her  son  should 
own  it,  or  the  grandson  of  that  Italian  singing 
woman  and  the  son  of  Agnes  Harribee.  She 
felt  the  superiority  of  her  own  right ;  and  she 
was  sure  it  was  superior. 

After  wandering  about  the  familiar  rooms, 
and  feeding  her  anger  on  a  variety  of  informa- 
tion offered  her  by  the  older  servants  of  the 
place,  she  determined  to  go  home  by  way  of 
Harribee.  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  be  ill- 
tempered  to  Faith.  She  began  to  tell  herself 
that  she  had  permitted  the  shepherdess  of 
Harribee  far  too  much  familiarity.  A  snub 
would  be  a  good  thing,  and  put  her  back  in  her 
own  place. 

When  Faith  saw  the  Seaton  carriage  ap- 
proaching, she  was  not  much  pleased.  She 
was  counting  out  from  great  oak  chests  the 
napery  for  the  spring  bleaching ;  fine  damask 
cloths  and  napkins  were  lying  around ;  linen 
sheets  and  pillow  cases,  and  whole  webs  of  fine 
flax  cloth,  were  being  examined  and  noted  pre- 
vious to  being  sent  up  to  the  bleaching  ground 


RIGHT,  BEFORE  EVERY  THING.          247 

on  Harribee  fell.  The  girls  with  their  baskets 
and  watering  cans  were  waiting,  each  one  for 
her  task,  and  Faith  was  desirous  to  get  them 
off  ere  the  sunny  mid-day  was  lost.  She  won- 
dered, too,  what  brought  Lady  Seaton  at  such 
a  like  hour,  but  she  went  to  meet  her  with  her 
usual  pleasant  smile  and  word. 

"  I  am  not  coming  in,  Miss  Harribee.  I  only 
thought  I  would  tell  you  that  Lord  Graeme  has 
gone  to  London.  There  is  no  saying  when  he 
will  be  back,  but  I  suppose  you  know  all  about 
his  movements." 

Faith  caught  in  a  moment  the  tone  of  her 
address,  and  with  a  dignity  which  was  not 
impaired  by  fretfulness,  answered  : 

"  I  ken  naething  of  Lord  Graeme's  move- 
ments, Lady  Seaton.  What  for  should  I  ?" 

"  He  has  not  been  easy  to  live  with  lately. 
I  must  say  I  blame  you." 

"  You  had  nae  right  to  blame  me." 

"  Come,  come,  Faith  Harribee  !  Every  one 
knows  he  has —  " 

"  My  Lady  Seaton,  if  you  hae  nae  particular 
business  with  me  this  morning,  I  will  be  ex. 
cused.  I  am  busy  getting  the  bleaching  women 
ready  for  the  hills." 


248  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

"  Is  that  of  more  importance  than  Lord 
Graeme  ?" 

"  To  me,  my  napery  is  of  vera  great  import- 
ance. I  am  but  a  simple  woman  having  my 
daily  duty  to  heed,  and  the  duties  o'  many 
others  hanging  to  my  duty.  I  hope  the  young 
lord  is  well." 

"  Quite  well." 

"  Then  gude  morning,  my  lady." 

And  with  a  calm  face  and  erect  head  she 
crossed  her  own  door-stone  again ;  hiding  her 
annoyance  and  heart-pain  in  such  a  hurried 
charge  to  the  girls  that  they  told  each  other, 
as  they  climbed  the  fell,  "  Mistress  was  gey  put 
oot  wi'  fine  lady  visitors  sae  early  in  the  morn' 
ing." 

Faith  was  indeed  very  much  put  out  by 
the  visit.  Lord  Graeme's  mood  on  the  preced- 
ing evening  had  troubled  her,  and  there  was  a 
quiet  insolence  in  the  manner  of  Terres  which 
not  only  wounded  but  angered  her.  She  felt 
in  her  own  heart,  that  if  Tilbert  Graeme  did 
not  redeem  the  promises  that  his  every  glance 
had  lately  made  her,  he  would  be  the  basest 
of  men. 

"  But  I  hae  nae  luck  in  love,"  she  murmured ; 


RIGHT,  BLFORE  EVERY  THING.         249 

"  as  soon  as  I  like  a  lad  he  turns  awa'  from  me. 
But  lord  or  shepherd,  I'll  no  waste  my  life  for 
any  of  them — only,  I  did  think  he  was  true  ' 
It's  weel  I  never  let  him  ken  how  much  I  thocht 
o'  him  !  It's  weel  I  never  let  him  run  awa'  with 
my  judgment — folks  will  talk — ay,  they'll  talk 
any  way  ;  they'll  say  I've  lost  my  lad  again — 
weel,  weel,  I'm  blythe  that  my  heart's  my  ain— 
and  my  siller  is  my  ain,  and  I  hae  the  boys  yet. 
Let  him  go !  Folks  canna  hae  luck  on  every 
side,  and  if  I  havena  love  luck,  I  hae  siller  luck." 
Then  she  sat  down  and  leaned  her  head  in  her 
hands,  and  the  tears  dropped  upon  the  table, 
and  she  saw  them  with  a  start,  and  lifted  her 
apron  and  wiped  them  away. 

And  with  the  action,  the  usual  pious  frame 
of  her  mind  asserted  itself,  and  brought  her 
almost  unconscious  comfort.  "Bide  a  wee 
while  longer,"  she  whispered,  as  if  addressing 
her  own  misty  eyes.  "  Bide  a  wee,  and  God 
shall  wipe  all  your  tears  awa*.  Ay,  it  will  take 
God's  hand  to  do  that  work ;  for  He  will  hae 
to  wipe  out  all  memories  of  wrong  and  pain, 
all  memories  of  love  slighted,  and  love  lost,  all 
memories  of  unkindness,  and  poortith,  and 
hunger,  and  cauld,  and  weariness,  and  woes 


25°  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

beyond  counting.  The  hand  of  God !  The 
blessing,  comforting  hand  that  will  wipe  all 
tears  awa' !  " 

Then  Phemie  came  bustling  in  with  twin 
lambs  that  a  shepherd  had  just  found  on  the 
bleak  hill-side  —  little,  shivering,  perishing 
things — and  Faith's  pity  was  instantly  aglow. 
She  sat  down  with  them  close  to  the  fire  and 
fed  them  with  warm  milk,  and  cuddled  them 
gently  to  her  breast.  And  she  forgot  her  own 
wounded  feelings  and  love-ache  in  their  want 
and  wretchedness.  For,  after  all,  she  had  that 
faith  in  God,  and  that  faith  in  herself,  which 
enabled  her  when  all  looked  darkest,  to  go 
right  on,  bating  no  jot  ot  heart  ana  hope. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  FATAL  HUNTING  PARTY. 

**  Day  and  night  God  standeth, 
Scanning  each  soul  as  it  landeth 
Pale  from  the  passion  of  death, 
Cold  from  the  cold  dark  river, 
As,  staggering,  blind  with  death, 
With  trembling  steps,  yet  fleet, 
Over  the  stones  of  darkness 
They  stumble  up  to  his  feet." 

IF  intervals  could  be  bridged  in  life  as  they 
are  in  books,  how  many  weary  hours 
might  be  avoided.  But  the  'wait'  of  sorrow 
and  anxiety,  as  of  love  and  joy,  must  be 
endured  to  the  last  moment.  Never  had  Faith 
found  the  days  so  long,  and  the  nights  so  long, 
and  work  so  monotonous,  and  the  intercourse 
of  common  daily  life  so  dreary.  Archie  Ren- 
wick's  desertion  had  been  bad  enough,  but 
Lord  Graeme's .  sudden  and  silent  flight  had 
elements  in  it  far  more  painful  and  mortifying. 
She  kep.t  assuring  herself  that  she  neither 


*  5  2  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

hoped  nor  expected  any  explanation  of  it,  and 
yet  she  was  conscious  of  constantly  watching 
the  clock  and  the  fell  road  for  the  postman. 
Lady  Seaton's  behavior  also  puzzled  and  cha- 
grined her.  She  could  conceive  of  no  cause 
for  it,  but  the  simple  insolence  of  birth  and 
wealth  ;  and  her  heart  was  bitter  with  a  sense 
of  wrong  and  slight,  as  she  walked  ten  days  and 
nights  through  the  furnace,  in  which  she  felt 
all  the  hopes  and  dreams  of  her  later  life  to  be 
perishing. 

As  yet  she  could  not  think  of  the  revenge 
within  her  power.  It  would  be  too  much  like 
revenge  to  give  it  a  moment's  consideration  ; 
for  she  was  determined  that  every  movement 
in  that  matter  should  spring  from  a  sense  of 
what  was  right  and  just.  So  she  suffered 
dumbly  and  ignorantly,  not  even  divining  the 
true  sources  from  which  her  restless  discontent 
sprang. 

One  afternoon,  ten  days  after  Lord  Graeme's 
departure,  the  oppression  on  her  heart  was  very 
great.  She  felt  miserable  and  so  inclined  to 
forgetfulness  that  she  determined  to  have  her 
sorrow  out  with  herself  upon  the  hills.  "I'm 
not  a  lassie,"  she  thought  as  she  climbed  Har- 


A    FATAL  HUNTING  PARTY.  253 

ribee  Fell  with  rapid  steps,  "  I'm  not  a  lassie, 
and  I  ken  weel,  I  havena  loved  wisely — a  man 
whom  my  fayther  would  only  know  in  the  way 
o'  buying  and  selling — a  man  whom  I  am  vera 
sure  has  been  guilty  o'  a  great  crime — a  man 
who  makes  nae  profession  o'  religion ;  and  is 
said  whiles,  to  drink  mair  than  he  should  do. 
What  for  am  I  loving  him  ?  " 

She  asked  the  question  of  her  heart  impet- 
uously, and  her  heart  could  only  penitently  an- 
swer, "  I  dinna  ken."  She  reasoned  with  herself, 
and  made  resolutions  many  and  strong  for  her 
guidance  in  the  future.  And  she  was  so  in 
earnest,  that  she  forgot  the  time,  and  forgot 
the  atmosphere  full  of  misty  rain,  until  there 
came  a  chilling  blast,  and  the  nearest  cloud 
began  to  sprinkle  the  bubbling  pool.  Then 
she  looked  around,  and  saw  that  she  was  three 
miles  from  home.  Down  the  brown  hills,  the 
shepherds,  far  apart,  were  descending  for  the 
night,  and  she  knew,  that  however  quick  she 
walked  Phemie  would  have  become  uneasy 
about  her,  ere  she  reached  Harribee. 

Under  the  pressure  of  haste,  she  put  aside 
her  thoughts  of  personal  pain  and  sorrow,  and 
with  firm  and  rapid  steps  took  the  nearest  way 


254  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

to  her  house.  It  was  raining  heavily  when  she 
reached  its  shelter,  and  she  was  physically  worn 
out.  But  oh  how  pleasant  was  her  own  hearth 
so  white  and  ruddy !  How  comforting  the 
careful  interest  of  her  servants  !  How  delicious 
the  good  tea  and  hot  cakes !  How  sooth- 
ing the  hour  when  the  meal  was  over  and 
Phemie  bid  her,  sit  down  and  bethink  her- 
self. 

She  was  weary  and  she  fell  asleep ;  deeply, 
sweetly  asleep.  Phemie  passed  in  and  out ; 
the  servants  came  home  and  chatted  gayly 
over  their  supper  in  the  kitchen,  but  she  heard 
nothing.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were  gathering  up 
the  arrears  of  her  late  broken  and  restless 
slumbers.  When  at  length  she  opened  her 
eyes  she  perceived  that  she  had  a  companion. 
Lord  Graeme  sat  before  the  fire,  but  so  motion- 
less, that  at  first  she  thought  him  only  a  part 
of  a  dream.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
blazing  wood,  his  face  pale  as  death,  the  bistre 
shadows  around  his  eyes  almost  black.  He 
looked  thin  and  haggard  also,  as  a  man  might 
look,  who  had  been  watching,  or  working, 
without  adequate  rest ;  and  his  clothing,  always 
as  neat  in  all  its  details,  was  wet  with  rain,  and 


A   FATAL  HUNTING  PARTY.  255 

spattered  with  mud  from  head  to  feet,  as  if  he 
had  been  riding  hard  and  recklessly. 

She  took  in  the  picture  at  a  glance  ;  then  she 
rose  and  said  softly. 

"  When  came  you,  lord  ?  Oh,  but  I  am  glad 
to  see  you  !  " 

She  was  going  to  approach  him,  but  he  put 
out  his  arm  as  if  to  stop  her.  "  Stand  where 
you  are,  Faith !  I  have  something  to  tell  you. 
When  you  have  heard  it,  you  will  not  want  to 
give  me  your  hand.  You  will  despise  me  for- 
ever." 

She  only  gazed  at  him  with  a  great  pity.  She 
felt,  and  knew  what  was  coming.  She  could 
not  say  a  word  either  to  help,  or  to  deter  him. 
"  Faith !  I  am  the  greatest  scoundrel  in  Scot- 
land !  Roland  Graeme  was  my  brother  Wil- 
liam's lawful  son  ;  my  title,  and  my  home 
belong  rightfully  to  David.  Oh  woman ! 
woman  !  I  love  you  so  dearly,  that  I  am  forced 
to  tell  you  my  sin.  You  have  made  me  feel  it 
to  be  a  sin.  I  am  as  wretched  in  your  pure 
presence  as  a  devil  would  be  in  heaven.  For- 
give me !  Faith,  for  any  sake,  forgive  me  !  " 
He  spoke  the  words  in  a  low  rapid  voice,  that 
seemed  vocal  with  the  agony  in  the  man's  heart. 


25  6  A    BORDER    SHEPHERDESS. 

In  a  moment  she  had  comprehended  that  to 
let  him  know  she  was  already  aware  of  his  sin, 
would  deeply  injure  the  purity  of  his  contri- 
tion, and  lessen  to  his  own  perception  the 
moral  grandeur  of  his  confession.  He  would 
think,  "  she  has  already  condoned  the  offense. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  not  so  very  great."  So 
she  stood  speechless,  motionless,  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  proud  man  acknowledging  his  crime. 
He  did  not  spare  himself.  He  only  spared 
Terres.  He  told  her  how  the  temptation  had 
first  come  to  him,  and  how  he  had  given  way 
to  it,  and  suffered  through  all  his  future  years 
from  the  consciousness  that  Roland  felt  and 
knew  him  to  be  a  rascal  and  utterly  despised 
him. 

As  he  spoke,  the  passion  of  his  remorse 
mastered  him.  He  stood  up,  and  flinging  down- 
ward his  hands,  palms  upward,  he  said,  "  I  will 
give  up  all  I  possess  to  the  boys  !  I  will  go 
away  forever !  I  will  forget  the  name  I  have 

dishonored !  I  will  leave  you  Faith leave 

you  dearest — never,  never  to  see  your  face 
(tgain  ! " 

Then  she  stepped  lightly  to  his  side.  She 
put  her  arms  around  his  neck.  She  wept  upon 


A    FATAL  HUNTING  PARTY.  257 

his  shoulder,  she  turned  her  beautiful  face  to 
his  and  voluntarily  kissed  him. 

A  breathless  silence  followed  an  act  of  love 
so  perfect  and  so  amazing.  He  held  her  close 
to  his  heart,  but  he  felt  as  if  he  were  losing  all 
consciousness  in  his  great  bliss.  He  did  not 
dare  to  speak.  And  Faith  by  the  very  gran- 
deur of  her  nature  understood  that  it  was  her 
place  in  this  extremity  of  love  and  pardon  to 
speak  first. 

"My  dear  one,"  she  whispered,  "you  have 
sinned  and  you  have  suffered,  and  confessed 
your  sin.  I  will  help  you  to  atone  for  it.  Let 
us  sit  down  and  consider  the  best  way." 

Then  he  took  from  his  breast  pocket  a  pack- 
age and  put  it  into  Faith's  hands.  She  under- 
stood without  a  word  that  it  contained  the 
papers  necessary  to  establish  David's  right. 
And  when  she  had  secured  them,  she  called  for 
hot  water,  and  made  tea  for  the  weary  man, 
and  would  not  suffer  him  to  talk  until  he  had 
been  refreshed. 

Afterward  they  sat  down  together  and  re- 
viewed more  calmly  the  position  in  which  the 
nominal  lord  found  himself.  The  circumstances 
were  familiar  to  Faith.  She  had  gone  over 


258  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

them  for  many  weeks  in  her  mind,  and  she  laid 
shortly  down  the  plan  she  had  evolved  as  most 
prudent  and  reasonable. 

"  David  kens  naething,  and  Matthew  kens 
naething.  If  they  had  the  news  now,  they 
wouldna  be  capable  of  judging  all  sides  right. 
It  would  be  wrong  to  ask  them  to  decide  such 
a  question  now.  It  would  hinder  the  plans  I 
hae  for  them,  and  they  are  gude  plans,  and  will 
make  fine  men  o'  them.  When  they  are  nine- 
teen they  shall  choose  their  professions  ;  when 
they  are  twenty-one  I  will  tell  David  what 
place  he  has  to  fill.  The  lads  like  you.  I  will 
not  hae  a  word  said  to  them  to  spoil  their 
liking." 

"  And  in  the  meantime " 

"  You  are  trustee  of  the  estate.  You  will  do 
the  best  thing  you  can  with  it.  When  David 
is  a  man  you  will  not  find  him  hard  to  settle 
with,  and  I  shall  take  care  that  baith  lads  are 
educated  fitting  for  any  station  they  may  hae 
to  fill." 

"  I  will  help  you  all  I  can,  Faith." 

He  had  too  much  delicacy  at  that  hour  to 
press  his  personal  desires ;  too  much  joy  and 
trust  in  the  wonderful  proof  she  had  given  him 


A   FATAL   HUNTING  PARTY.  259 

of  her  regard  to  appear  to  be  less  than  fully 
content  with  it.  A  great  confidence  and  peace 
was  between  them,  none  the  less  because  they 
did  not  put  it  into  the  conventional,  lover-like 
phrases.  And  yet  in  both  hearts  there  was  the 
sadness  of  all  late  pleasures — a  sadness  not  to 
be  deprecated ;  containing  to  those  hearts 
capable  of  entertaining  it,  the  deepest  elements 
of  joy. 

When  Lord  Graeme  departed,  Faith  called 
Phemie.  The  old  woman  entered  with  an  air 
of  disapproval  and  injury,  and  the  affectation 
of  being  sleepy  and  worn  out. 

"  Phemie,  I  have  promised  to  marry  Lord 
Graeme." 

"  Yes  ma'am.  If  a'  falls  oot  to  your  ordering, 
you'll  maybe  do  that  same ;  but  there's  slips, 
plenty  o'  them  in  life.  However,  whate'er  is 
determined  by  God,  is  sure  to  happen.' 

"  You  might  say  a  few  pleasanter  words  than 
those,  Phemie." 

"  Lovers  arena  the  only  folk  living  or  dead. 
I  was  thinking  on  a'  sides.  If  it  be  true  that 
marriages  are  made  in  heaven,  I  can  weel  foretel 
hinderances  you  havena  thocht  o'  ;  for  I'm  sure 
and  certain  maister  didna  hear  your  name  and 


260  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

Tilbert  Graeme's  thegither  without  speaking 
his  mind  anent  it,  even  to  the  Lord  himsel'.  I 
dinna  believe  Matthew  Harribee  in  heaven 
would  hear  tell  o'  it." 

"  Surely  you  don't  think  people  remember 
earthly  anger  and  dislikes  in  heaven  ?  " 

'•  What  for  no  ?  Arena  the  martyrs  aye  cry- 
ing oot  for  God  to  avenge  them  on  their 
enemies  ?  That  doesna  look  like  they  forgot 
their  earthly  wrangs.  But  I  hae  naething  to 
say — neither  this  nor  that :  folks  that  will  marry 
must  marry — if  so  be,  they  can." 

Yet  in  spite  of  Phemie's  evident  disapproval, 
Faith  was  very  happy,  and  the  next  few  months 
were  an  over-payment  of  delight  for  all  her 
loving  heart  had  hitherto  missed.  Very  quietly, 
but  with  a  positiveness  there  was  no  gainsaying, 
Lord  Graeme  took  his  place  in  Harribee  as  her 
betrothed  husband,  He  himself  explained  to 
the  boys  his  relationship  to  their  aunt,  and 
from  this  time  they  became  as  much  a  part  of 
his  life,  as  they  were  of  Faith's.  He  bought 
each  of  them  a  fine  horse ;  and  he  taught  them 
to  ride,  and  to  shoot,  and  to  fish.  He  set  aside 
rooms  in  Graeme  Castle  for  their  use,  and 
speedily  let  the  servants  understand  that 


A    FATAL   HUNTING  PARTY.  261 

they  could  not  be  too  respectful  to  his 
nephews. 

And  they  returned  his  attentions  with  that 
boyish  affection  which  is  so  pure,  and  true,  and 
enthusiastic.  To  David  and  Matthew  no  man 
living  was  so  clever,  and  so  good  as  uncle 
Tilbert.  In  this  delightful  intercourse  the 
summer  sped  happily  away.  The  neighbor- 
hood had  quietly  accepted  the  proposed  mar- 
riage as  as  a  suitable  one,  and  it  was  generally 
understood  that  it  would  take  place  soon  after 
the  new  year.  In  such  case,  a  rumor  had  got 
afloat  that  the  Graemes  would  go  abroad  for 
some  time.  Faith,  when  asked  if  this  were 
really  herintention,  only  smiled.  It  was  a  smile 
which  could  be  taken  as  the  interrogator  desired. 

Only  Lady  Seaton  had  shown  any  dissatis- 
faction. She  felt  as  if  both  Tilbert  and  Faith 
were  contemplating  a  great  wrong  to  her  son  ; 
and  her  coolness  pained  Faith.  "  I  rejoiced 
with  her  when  her  love  came  a'  right,"  she 
reflected.  "  I  did  a'  I  could  to  make  the  bright 
brighter  and  the  sweet  sweeter.  I  wish  she 
had  been  as  gude  to  me  !  But  Time  will  prove 
a'  things,  and  at  the  long  last,  she  will  think 
better  o'  me." 


262  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

When  the  summer  vacation  was  over  the 
boys  did  not  return  to  Hawick.  They  were  to 
go  to  Eton,  after  the  marriage,  and  in  the 
meantime  they  studied  with  the  dominie. 
Graeme  had  been  an  Eton  boy,  and  he  had 
thoroughly  interesed  the  lads  in  the  life 
of  its  mimic  world.  And  (gradually  even 
Phemie  began  to  contemplate  the  great  changes 
approaching  as  part  and  parcel  of  existences 
foreordained  by  infinite  and  unerring  wisdom 
— "  and  it  is  oor  place,"  she  said,  "  to  be  walk- 
ing cheerfully  the  road  He  has  ordered ;  no  to 
be  wishing  it  either  wider  or  smoother,  or  in 
any  ither  direction." 

One  morning  in  November,  Harribee  was 
early  astir.  It  was  a  hunting  morning,  and  the 
youths  were  to  have  their  first  introduction  to 
the  field.  The  weather  was  gray  and  rimy  with 
an  east  wind  and  a  cloudy  sky,  and  the  ground 
as  soft  as  desirable.  David  was  greatly  excited, 
Matthew  quite  as  much,  though  holding  him- 
self in  firmer  control,  and  both  looked  very 
natty  and  handsome  in  their  pink  jackets  and 
top  boots.  Faith  was  nervous,  but  she  would 
not  damp  their  delight  by  her  weak  fears  and 
doubts.  She  gave  them  a  hot,  substantial 


A   FA'TAL  HUNTING  PARTY.  263 

breakfast,  and  never  until  they  were  mounting 
spoke  one  word  of  warning.  Then  it  was  only, 
"  Matthew,  I  am  not  feared  for  you,  either  on 
foot  or  in  saddle,  for  you  are  aye  canny  and 
careful ;  but  David,  dear  lad,  look  to  your 
horse,  for  he  isna  the  one  who  will  look  after 
you." 

"  All  right,  aunt.  Why,  my  horse  is  the  best 
hunter  in  Eskdale.  Uncle  says  so.  He  is  a 
good  jumper,  clever  at  doubles,  safe  at  timber, 
bold  at  water,  and  not  a  runner  to  beat  him.  I 
intend  to  show  what  he  can  do  to-day.  And 
we  are  not  going  far.  You  will  hear  the  music, 
I'll  warrant." 

With  lifted  caps  and  bright  faces  they  can- 
tered off  in  the  gray  light,  both  sitting  in  their 
saddles  as  if  they  had  grown  there.  The  meet 
was  at  Graeme,  and  all  along  the  road,  scarlet- 
coated  men  were  trotting,  and  riding,  and 
galloping  to  the  rendezvous ;  the  young  ones 
larking  over  the  fences ;  the  elder  ones  saving 
themselves  and  their  horses  by  opening  the 
gates. 

When  they  reached  the  castle,  the  lawn  was 
all  alive.  There  were  drags  drawn  by  four 
horses,  and  light  dog-carts,  and  gigs,  every  one 


264  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS.  \ 

laden  with  men  well  muffled-up,  but  showing  a 
bit  of  pink  somewhere,  either  at  wrist  or  collar. 
Lord  Seaton  was  there,  and  the  Earl  of  Lan- 
ark, and  Sir  Thomas  Mowbray  and  gentlemen 
and  farmers  in  such  numbers  that  the  ground 
looked  like  a  fair.  Graeme's  servants  were 
passing  in  and  out  among  them  ;  some  serving 
old  ale  in  great  silver  cups,  others  carrying 
wicker  baskets  full  of  sandwiches,  and  bread 
and  cheese. 

The  hounds  were  whimpering  around  the 
whipper-in,  who  was  feeding  them  with  crumbs 
out  of  his  pocket,  as  he  leaned  forward  on  his 
horse,  talking  to  a  farmer  about  a  fox  which 
had  been  shot  by  a  poacher. 

"  Yes,"  he  complained,  with  an  angry  face, 
what  wi'  poachers,  and  traps,  and  poison,  vera 
few  foxes  now  die  a  natural  death." 

"  Meaning  that  they  are  not  eaten  alive  by 
the  Graeme  hounds,  Carr  ? "  asked  David, 
laughing. 

"  Just  sae,  Maister  Graeme,  just  sae.  That 
is  surely  a  mair  natural  death  for  a  fox  than 
traps,  and  the  like  o'  that." 

Just  at  this  point  Lord  Graeme  appeared 
with  a  little  group  of  aristocrats  around  him. 


A   FATAL  HUNTING  PARTY.  265 

"  Move  on  sir?  "  asked  the  huntsman  ;  "  is  it 
move  on  ?  "  Graeme  slightly  nodded  in  reply. 

"  Now,  then,  gentlemen  !  "  Ware  hounds, 
if  you  please ;"  and  surrounded  by  them,  and 
his  whips,  and  more  than  a  hundred  horsemen, 
he  made  for  the  covert  a  mile  away. 

While  all  were  waiting  there,  Graeme  rode 
up  to  the  boys.  He  praised  their  appearance, 
and  gave  them  some  points  about  the  covert  to 
be  hunted,  and  some  warnings  concerning  tim- 
ber likely  to  be  crossed.  His  face  was  unu- 
sually bright,  his  manner  particularly  kind  and 
careful,  and  while  he  was  talking  some  one 
cried,  "  He's  away  !  Hes  away  !  "  and  with  the 
words,  a  few  loud,  decisive  blasts  from  the 
huntsman's  horn  confirmed  the  cry.  Then, 

"  The  musical  confusion" 
Of  hounds  and  echoes  in  conjunction, 

rang  through  and  through  the  misty. air.  The 
fox  lightly  cantered  along  the  hedge  side.  The 
sheep  gazed  at  him  spell-bound,  and  some  bul- 
locks in  a  neighboring  field,  with  noses  touch- 
ing the  ground  and  flying  tails,  jumped  upwards 
and  sideways  for  joy. 

Faith  heard  the  distant  music,  and  was  not 
quite  ea»»y  about  it.  Not  that  she  had  any  fear 


266  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

concerning  her  boys  or  her  lover.  She  was 
thinking  of  her  sheep.  For  she  knew  right 
well  if  the  fox  took  by  Harribee,  the  moment 
the  sheep  saw  the  hounds  they  would  instantly 
follow  them. 

"  But  the  collies  are  on  the  fells,  Ma'am," 
said  Phemie,  "  and  they'll  be  clever  sheep  that 
will  get  their  ain  way,  if  Laddie  and  Lassie  are 
there.  Forbye,  the  hunters  are  as  keen  to  keep 
awa'  fra  the  sheep  as  you  can  be  to  hae  them. 
They  dinna  like  to  find  a  hundred  muttons  wi* 
their  fat  jolting  sides  blocking  up  the  only  pas- 
sage in  a  high  fence.  Little  gude  their  hunting 
whips  are  on  such  a  mass  o*  panting  wool,  and 
Dickey  told  me  last  season  that  he  saw  a  whole 
field  stopped  by  a  score  or  twa  o'  crazy  sheep." 

"  The  foolish  things  !  " 

"  Ay,  they  are  the  silliest  o'  living  creatures ! 
Human  beings  are  weel  evened  wi'  them.  Ne'er 
too  young  either  to  be  foolish.  A  lambie  just 
born,  if  it  sees  the  hounds,  will  leave  its  mither 
and  rin  with  them  till  it  drops  dead." 

"And  the  puir  fox!  I'm  sorry  for  him 
too." 

"Sae  am  I,  ma'am.  Vera  sorry.  Puir  thing, 
wi'  his  supple  limbs  and  his  stout  heart  going 


A    FATAL  HUNTING  PARTY.  267 

through  boughs  and  briars  and  thorns  straight 
as  an  arrow  for  his  earth;  and  then  maist 
likely  finding  it  stopped  ;  and  then  undaunted 
awa'  again  until  his  breath  and  not  his  heart 
gies  oot,  and  then  dying  amid  the  barking,  howl- 
ing pack  with  ne'er  a  cry  or  a  single  moan.  It's 
a  cruel  thing." 

"  Ay,  it's  cruel ;  sae  is  fishing  for  that  matter. 
If  the  fish  screamed  as  it  was  wounded  and 
lifted  out  of  the  water,  I  wonder  if  men  folk 
would  fish  ?  " 

"  Ay,  would  they,  if  they  wanted  to." 

So  the  two  women  conversed  as  Phemiewent 
in  and  out  of  the  house-place,  and  Faith  sat 
sewing  in  the  light  of  the  broad  window.  About 
noon  she  rose  and  was  folding  up  her  work 
when  she  heard  the  mad  gallop  of  a  horse  to- 
wards Harribee.  She  seized  a  plaid,  threw  it 
around  her  shoulders  and  went  to  the  door. 
Dickey  had  just  driven  up  in  the  tax  cart  and 
he  also  stood  watching  the  approaching  rider. 
He  came  straight  to  Faith. 

"  Miss  Harribee,  you  must  come  with  me  at 
once.  Lord  Graeme  has  been  thrown.  He  is 
very  much  hurt.  He  can  not  be  moved." 

She  was  deathly  white  ;  she  shook  like  a  reed 


268  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

in  a  tempest,  and  asked  in  a  voice  low  and  thick 
with  terror,  "  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  In  the  green  acre — by  the  gate.  He  was 
leaping  it ;  pulled  up  in  the  leap  I  expect.  The 
horse  is  dead.  You  have  no  time  to  lose." 

She  folded  the  plaid  over  her  head  and 
motioned  to  Dickey  to  take  her  into  the  cart. 
The  next  moment  she  was  dashing  along  the 
stony  road,  the  Galloway  nag  keeping  step  and 
step  with  the  hunter.  The  mile  and  a  half  was 
done  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  for  in  a  few 
minutes  Faith  was  at  the  sorrowful  tryste. 
Graeme  lay  where  he  had  fallen.  A  few  men 
were  around  him,  others  standing  by  their 
horses  in  solemn  groups  at  a  little  distance. 

Lord  Seaton  came  to  meet  her.  "  Faith,"  he 
said,  "  he  has  been  asking  for  you  continually  ; 
you,  and  only  you.  I  feared  you  would  be  too 
late." 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  prostrate  figure.  She  went  rapidly  to 
it,  knelt  down  by  its  side,  and  bent  her  face 
close  to  the  one  almost  clay. 

"Tilbert,  my  beloved,  I  am  here  !  " 

His  agony  was  almost  unendurable,  but  he 
smiled  brightly  and  gasped  out,  "  the  time  of 


A   FATAL  HUNTING  PARTY.  269 

parting  is  at  hand — quick! — kiss  me,  dear  one  ! 
Faith!  Faith  ! 

All  withdrew  to  a  short  distance  ;  kindly  and 
wisely  oblivious  of  that  last  solemn,  tender 
parting.  In  ten  minutes  it  was  over.  She  rose 
up  from  the  wet  earth  in  a  maze  of  anguish. 
Lord  Seaton  covered  the  poor  shattered  body 
with  a  plaid  and  then  turned  to  her.  "  Let  me 
take  you  home  now,  Faith.  Let  me  take 
you  to  Seaton.  Terres  and  you  can  weep  to- 
gether." 

She  shook  her  head  positively,  and  covering 
her  face  with  her  hands  moaned  like  some 
wounded  creature.  The  men  watched  her  with 
pity ;  there  was  hardly  a  dry  eye  there  ;  but 
all  words  of  consolation  seemed  such  a  mock- 
ery that  no  one  attempted  to  offer  them. 
David  and  Matthew  she  put  gently  aside  ;  and 
when  Dickey  brought  forward  the  cart,  she 
passed  him  with  a  gesture  which  signified  that 
she  wished  him  to  go  home  without  her.  She 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  that  inert  endur- 
ance of  suffering  and  sympathy  which  it  in- 
eluded  ;  and  throwing  her  plaid  over  her  head, 
she  took  the  narrow  footpath  through  the 
inclosed  land. 


27°  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

They  could  not  but  watch  her  as  she  walked 
very  swiftly  over  the  brown,  bare  fields.  But 
what  comfort  could  they  give  her  ?  They 
could  not  restore  the  dear  face,  the  voice,  the 
heart  that  had  wrapped  her  in  its  love.  They 
could  not  lighten  that  sense  of  utter  desola- 
tion which  had  come  to  her  when  all  was  over, 
and  she  stood  astonished  and  smitten  upon  a 
threshold  she  could  not  pass. 

Riding  slowly  and  talking  sadly,  the  hunt- 
ing party  separated.  There  is  in  death  a  sov- 
ereign dignity,  the  solemnity  of  a  life  con- 
cluded; and  however  they  had  felt  toward 
Graeme  living,  the  man  dead,  inspired  in  every 
breast  a  strange  sentiment  of  respect.  Had 
he  not  gone  forth  on  a  passage  full  of  myste- 
ries, a  passage  which  they  also  should  one 
day  tread  ? 


CHAPTER  XV. 
AT  FAITH'S  MERCY. 

"  In  her  sheltered  home 
Dwelt  Peace  and  Charity,  and  Joy  became 
A  frequent  guest,  and  loved  to  sit  with  her 
And  make  her  sing.     Yet  pitiful  she  was 
To  all  who  suffered,  measuring  loss  and  woe 
By  the  large  measure  of  her  own  deep  heart, 
And  by  the  vastness  of  its  treasure." 

WHEN  the  heart  is  brimful  of  grief  it 
must  be  held  very  still,  and  in  the  days 
following  Lord  Graeme's  death,  Faith  instinct- 
ively preserved  this  attitude.  To  have  wept, 
or  given  way  to  audible  lamentation,  would 
have  been  to  make  shipwreck  of  self-control, 
and  relinquish  that  dignity  of  grief  which  saved 
her  the  platitudes  of  sympathy,  and  the  sur- 
render of  the  least  portion  of  her  confidence. 
During  the  week  in  which  the  body  lay  in 
Graeme  Castle,  her  mental  distress  was  very 
great.  But  she  refused  to  see  it  again.  Her 
farewell  had  been  taken.  Her  beloved  had 
crossed  the  great  border  land  with  her  words 


272  A   BORDER    SHEPHERDESS. 

of  hope  in  his  ears,  and  her  kisses  upon  his 
lips.  Her  last  memory  of  him  was  one  which 
death's  erasing  fingers  had  not  touched,  and 
she  did  not  wish  any  other  to  supplant  it. 
The  custom  of  her  native  country  saved  her 
from  the  ordeal  of  the  funeral.  David  and 
Matthew  walked  with  Lord  Seaton  as  chief 
mourners,  and  most  sincere  mourners  they 
were.  "  It  was  his  last  request  to  me,"  said 
Lord  Seaton  to  Faith.  '  See  that  David  and 
Matthew  Graeme  are  the  chief  followers  at  my 
burial.'  Those  were  his  words,  and  I  prom- 
ised him,  for  he  loved  the  lads ;"  and  Faith 
bowed  her  head,  and  was  satisfied  it  should 
be  so. 

But  Terres  was  angry  at  the  arrangement, 
and  Lord  Seaton,  though  he  insisted  on  the 
carrying  out  of  the  promise  made  to  the  dead, 
was  much  annoyed.  Besides,  there  was  some 
vague  wonder  among  the  neighboring  gentry ; 
a  floating  suspicion  in  their  minds,  which  yet 
they  scarcely  cared  to  whisper  to  each  other, 
so  charged  was  it  with  obligation  to  the  living 
and  blame  to  the  dead. 

The  principal  rooms  in  the  castle  were  hung 
with  black  cloth  for  the  occasion,  and  it  would  be 


AT  FAITfTS  MERCY.  273 

hard  to  conceive  of  a  dwelling  more  profoundly 
melancholy  and  forlorn.  The  servants  would 
not  move  about  it,  except  in  couples ;  the  visi- 
tors, in  spite  of  the  large  fires,  were  cold.  A 
sudden,  irresistible  depression,  a  trembling 
mortal  terror,  assailed  every  one  who  came 
into  the  lonely  rooms.  There  was  something, 
terrible  to  the  boys  in  this  pomp  of  black  vel- 
vet and  black  cloth — in  the  still  face,  so  awfully 
white,  that  was  the  only  object  above  the 
heavy  pall,  the  one  pitiful  cause  of  the  black 
floor,  and  the  black  walls,  and  the  black  draper- 
ies. Faith  was  glad  she  had  not  so  seen  it. 
Far  better  to  remember  it  under  the  open  sky, 
out  in  the  wide  fields,  with  the  sympathy 
of  nature,  and  the  sympathy  of  its  mortal  kind 
regarding  it. 

Still  as  long  as  the  body  lay  there,  Faith 
felt  that  she  might  give  so  long  to  her  own 
sorrow.  There  would  be  no  necessity  to  con- 
sider what  duty  she  owed  her  nephews  in  this 
crisis,  until  after  the  burial.  Lord  Seaton  was 
the  nearest  male  relative  capable  of  taking 
upon  his  shoulders  the  ponderous  ceremonies 
considered  proper  for  a  man  of  noble  birth, 
who  had  also  held  local  and  social  positions  oi 


274  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

trust  and  eminence.  When  the  last  rites  had 
been  fully  paid,  then  she  would  see  Terres. 

It  was  said  that  Lady  Seaton  was  very  ill, 
and  she  could  well  believe  it.  The  affection 
between  the  brother  and  sister  had  been  one  of 
exceptional  intensity.  Terres  mourned  bitterly, 
.and  for  many  weeks  refused  every  suggestion  of 
comfort  or  resignation.  It  seemed  cruel  in  the 
sharpness  of  such  heart-sorrow  to  bring  to  her 
remembrance  the  worst  side  of  her  brother's 
character,  and  force  her  to  contemplate  the  sin 
they  had  committed  together. 

Faith  also  was  for  some  weeks  physically 
averse  to  the  dispute.  A  languor,  a  sadness  of 
sorrow,  that  preferred  inaction  and  silence,  had 
in  a  measure  subdued  her.  After  the  boys 
went  to  Eton,  her  life  lost  .its  savor.  Terrible 
temptations  assail  even  truly  good  women  when 
they  sit  down  on  the  edge  of  the  tomb.  It  is 
there  the  great  enemy  is  to  be  most  feared. 
He  said  to  Faith,  "  God  has  taken  the  only  one 
who  truly  loved  you  away — He  need  not 
have  done  so.  He  took  him  cruelly  and  with- 
out  warning.  He  need  not  have  done  so. 
Will  you  ever  see  him  again  ?  In  what  form, 
and  in  what  region  ?  Will  he  love  you  then? 


AT  FAITH'S  MERCY.  275 

And  in  ten,  or  twenty  years,  are  you  even  sure 
that  you  will  love  him  ?"  Oh,  yes  !  it  is  gen. 
erally  the  strongest  souls  that  have  these  pallid 
despondencies,  these  spiritual  negations,  nigh 
hand  to  annihilation. 

But  with  Faith  it  was  only  a  passing  condi- 
tion. Children  always  turn  to  the  light,  and 
Faith  had  a  child's  soul.  Ere  long  she  turned 
to  the  celestial  horizons,  to  infinite  serenities, 
to  love  without  end  or  limit.  For  her  soul  had 
never  doubted.  It  believed  as  her  body 
breathed,  as  naturally  and  as  unconsciously.  It 
had  no  need  to  discuss  its  faith.  It  is  the 
simplest  who  see  the  clearest. 

Phemie  had  watched  her  grief  with  a  wise 
and  patient  understanding  ;  knowing  by  some 
fine  womanly  instinct  when  to  leave  her  in  soli- 
tude, when  to  call  her  perforce  into  the  struggle 
of  life.  She  was  glad  that  the  spring  opened 
early  ;  that  even  in  February  there  were  a  few 
young  lambs  to  be  looked  after.  Then  Faith 
roused  herself  to  her  duty.  She  was  again  con. 
stantly  on  the  hills ;  but  there  were  few  of  the 
valleys,  or  the  high  places,  not  full  of  the  mem- 
ories  of  her  little  brother  David,  of  her  neph- 
ews, and  of  Graeme. 


276  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

She  could  not  but  remember;  and  she  would 
have  been  pitifully  lonely,  had  not  one  of  the 
dogs  taken  a  singular  affection  for  her.  Laddie 
was  a  noble  collie  who  knew  every  sheep  she 
owned,  and  whose  sagacity  had  saved  many  a 
flock.  During  that  very  winter  he  had^  per- 
ceived the  approach  of  a  snow-storm  while  the 
shepherds  were  at  kirk,  and  without  orders 
driven  a  thousand  sheep  into  the  nearest  shel- 
ter. When  Faith  began  to  look  after  the 
lambs  again,  he  positively  attached  himself  to 
her.  With  eyes  full  of  unspeakable  affection 
— in  which  she  asserted  she  often  saw  a  mist 
like  tears,  and  even  the  whole  understanding  of 
her  great  loss — he  quietly  watched  her.  And 
she  grew  familiar  with  the  wise  and  loving 
creature,  and  often  in  her  lonely  walks  talked 
to  him. 

"  I  hae  the  heartache,  Laddie  ;  "  and  Laddie 
would  look  into  her  face  with  a  sympathy  that 
both  understood.  When  she  sat  down  upon 
the  little  knoll  that  had  been  a  favorite  resting- 
place  for  Graeme  and  herself,  Laddie  lay  down 
gently  beside  her,  and  they  had  their  own  sad 
confidences.  And  the  fine  healthful  walks,  the 
caring  for  helpless  creatures,  and  the  confiding 


AT  FAn^H'S  MERCY.  277- 

comfort  of  her  dumb  friend  soon  restored 
Faith.  She  began  to  write  longer  letters  to 
her  boys,  to  take  her  old  vivid  interest  in  all 
that  concerned  them,  to  plan  for  their  holi- 
days, and  count  away  the  weeks  of  their  ab- 
sence. 

In  the  month  of  May  she  heard  that  Lady 
Seaton  had  returned  to  the  Court.  A  severe 
illness  had  followed  her  brother's  death,  and  it 
had  been  thought  necessary  to  take  her  to  the 
south  of  France  for  the  winter.  At  the  time 
she  left,  Faith  was  not  sorry  that  her  absence 
should  leave  her  some  time  to  consider  the  best 
and  kindest  way  in  which  to  open  a  subject  so- 
painful  to  both.  That  it  had  to  be  discussed, 
there  was  no  doubt.  Lord  Seaton  had  applied 
for  power  to  control  the  Graeme  estate  on 
behalf  of  his  son's  right  in  it.  The  child  was 
everywhere  spoken  of  as  lord  of  Seaton  and 
Graeme  ;  and  in  spite  of  her  sympathy  for  Ter- 
res,  and  her  liking  for  the  babe,  Faith  felt  a 
centiment  of  anger  at  it.  For  though  Lord 
Graeme,  in  his  confession  to  her,  had  never 
named,  nor  blamed  his  sister ;  in  subsequent 
necessary  conversations,  he  had  been  compelled 
to  reluctantly  adnr't  that  Lady  Seaton  was 


278  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

aware  of  the  wrong,  and  would  surely  endeavor 
to  take  advantage  of  it  for  her  son. 

So,  after  her  return,  there  was  a  feeling  of 
strait  in  Faith's  mind,  a  determination  to  do 
right,  but  to  do  it  as  kindly  as  possible,  for  the 
sake  of  one  so  dear  to  all  concerned.  She 
selected  a  morning  of  perfect  loveliness  for  her 
mission,  and  she  went  early  after  breakfast, 
because  Lord  Seaton  was  then  generally  in  the 
saddle  going  over  the  estates. 

Terres  received  her  very  coolly.  She  was  not 
aware  that  her  brother  had  made  any  confes- 
sion. She  had  been  hurt  and  scandalized  by 
his  defiance  of  conventional  forms  in  entreating 
Jor  Faith's  presence  in  his  dying  moments  ;  and 
.also  very  much  offended  by  Faith's  ready  com- 
pliance with  his  wish.  She  felt  that  herown  claim 
ought  to  have  been  remembered  first.  People 
had  talked,  and  Terres  hated  having  her  family 
.affairs  talked  about.  Moreover,  the  meeting 
amid  such  a  crowd  of  witnesses  prevented  her 
-quietly  smiling  away  any  presumptions  that 
.Lord  Graeme  ever  really  intended  to  marry  the 
shepherdess  of  Harribee.  She  was  now,  also, 
a  very  great  and  rich  lady.  If  Faith  had  shown 
her  some  civilities  in  the  past,  she  considered 


AT  FAITH'S  MERCY.  279 

that  she  had  amply  returned  them.  She  was 
quite  determined  that  the  acquaintance  should 
be  dropped,  and  she  received  Faith  in  a  man- 
ner consonant  with  this  resolve. 

"  I  hope  you  are  better,  Lady  Seaton?" 

"  I  am  well.     And  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  well  also.     How  is  the  child  ?  " 

She  touched  a  bell,  and  ordered  his  lordship 
to  be  brought  in.  He  was  a  pretty  boy,  and 
Faith  noticed  that  his  apron  was  ornamented 
on  the  bosom  with  the  united  crests  of  Seaton 
and  Graeme.  She  looked  at  it,  and  was  silent 
a  moment.  Then  she  said,  "  Come  with  me, 
my  lady,  where  we  can  be  quite  alone.  I  have 
some  words  to  speak  to  you  to-day." 

Terres  laughed  a  little  scornfully,  but  there 
was'a  sudden  fear  in  her  heart.  She  led  Faith 
to  her  bedroom,  and  closing  the  door,  said : 
"  Pray  what  secret  have  you  to  tell  me  now, 
Miss  Harribee  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  a  secret  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Will  it  be  any  secret  if  I  tell  you  that  the 
baby  we  have  just  left  is  Lord  o'  Seaton,  but  is 
not  Lord  o'  Graeme  ? ' 

Her  face  blazed,  she  snapped  the  gold  chain 


280  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

she  was  fingering  in  two,  as  she  answertd, 
"  Understand  that  you  can  not  impose  upon 
?ne  with  any  old  rubbish  about  private  mar- 
riages — " 

"  There  was  no  private  marriage  in  the  case 
of  your  brother  William  Graeme  and  Beatrice 
Spezia.  It  was  a  public  marriage,  well  attested, 
and  my  sister's  husband  was  his  lawful  son." 

"  Proofs  !  Proofs  !  What  do  I  care  for  your 
assertion  ?  It  is  not  worth  the  breath  you  make 
it  with." 

"  I  have  the  proofs.     Your  brother — " 

"  Do  not  name  him.  How  dare  you  name 
him  to  me?" 

"  '  Dare  '  is  a  word  not  to  be  used  to  a  Har- 
ribee,  man  or  woman.  Your  brother  Tilbert 
was  my  promised  husband." 

"  You  say  so." 

"  It  is  true." 

"  Then  you  intended  to  marry  him  for  his 
title.  If  you  could  have  been  Lady  Graeme 
yourself,  little  you  would  have  cared  about  the 
right  or  the  wrong  of  it." 

"  Of  all  trifles,  titles  are  the  very  lightest. 
In  my  condition  I  stand  upon  my  ain  feet,  not 
needing  in  any  way  to  lean  upon  the  great.  If 


AT  FAITH'S  MERCY.  281 

I  had  married  your  brother  I  would  hae  mar- 
ried him  only  as  Tilbert  Graeme.  I  intended 
to  go  abroad  until  the  time  to  right  the  wrong 
had  come." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  So  that  was  Tilbert's  and 
your  fine  plan  !  Heaven  very  wisely  de- 
feated it." 

"  I  didna  come  here  to  talk  o'  the  dead,  but 
o'  the  living.  I  hae  the  certificate  o'  your 
brother  William's  marriage.  I  hae  also  the 
baptismal  certificate  of  the  late  Lord  Roland 
Graeme,  And  I  hae  a  written  confession  which 
I  v->or)c  and  trust  you  willna  force  me  to  use. 
Unless  it  is  used,  the  world  need  never  ken 
whether  the  wrong  was  intentional,  or  a  mis- 
take. Sandy  Todd  kens  that  I  hae  been  mak- 
ing inquiries,  there  is  nane  need  ever  know 
mair  than  that  the  right  has  come  to  light 
through  me.  Lady  Seaton,  I  hae  nae  desire 
to  give  you  or  yours  a  moment's  annoyance. 
Help  me  to  do  what  I  must  do,  as  easily  as 
possible." 

"  My  poor  little  boy !  He  is  to  be  made  a 
pauper  for  those  two  big  nephews  of  yours." 

Then  she  began  to  weep  bitterly,  and  Faith 
sat  down  silent  and  grieved,  but  she  offered  her 


*82  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

no  consolation.  After  a  while,  Terres  dried  her 
eyes  and  asked,  "  Why  do  you  wish  to  alter 
what  is  so  suitably  settled  ?  " 

"  For  you,  suitably  settled,  perhaps  ;  for  my 
nephews  ?  " 

"  If  they  want  money,  how  much  will  satisfy 
you  ?  I  will  sell  my  jewels.  I  will  give  you 
all  I  have." 

"All  you  have  is  too  little.  It  is  not  money 
I  care  for.  If  all  the  world  were  mine,  I  could 
be  no  other  than  I  am.  No  whit  gladder,  no 
whit  prouder.  I  live  quietly  in  my  own  home, 
out  of  the  noise  of  the  world  ;  fearing  none  but 
God  ;  desiring  naething  but  the  right." 

"  Then  why  molest  my  little  Piers  ?  " 

"  Canna  you  see  that  it  would  be  wrong  to 
let  Piers  Seaton  enjoy  what  is  truly  David 
Graeme's?  " 

"If  David  were  willing!  Can  you  not 
manage  David?  I  will  give  him  money." 

"  Do  you  really  hope  to  make  me  a  partner 
in  your  sin  ?  If  David  could  be  bought,  that 
would  not  touch  Matthew's  right  o'  succes- 
sion." 

"  Oh,  Faith !  Faith,  then  have  pity  on  me. 
If  Seaton  knows  the  truth,  he  will  cast  me 


AT  FAITH'S  MERCY.  283 

off  forever.  The  circumstances  must  come 
before  the  Lord  Chancellor.  They  will  be  in 
all  the  newspapers.  Every  body  will  be  dis- 
cussing them  ;  supposing  this,  and  suspecting 
that.  It  would  be  torture  to  Seaton,  who  is 
the  proudest  and  most  honorable  of  men.  He 
will  insist  on  paying  all  the  back  rentals.  It 
would  ruin  us.  When  he  is  aware  that  I  have 
even  sanctioned  Tilbert's  action,  he  will  despise 
me.  I  can  fancy  the  look  he  will  give  me.  I 
do  not  think  he  will  ever  speak  to  me  again. 
And  my  poor  boy!  Oh,  Faith!  Oh  Faith! 
have  some  mercy  on  me  !  " 

Faith's  answer  came  slowly  and  with  a  sense 
of  great  effort,  as  if  she  were  yielding  con- 
science to  circumstances  and  justice  to  mercy. 

"  Lady  Seaton." 

"  Call  me  Terres  ;  call  me  sister." 

"  Na,  na  !  I  will  be  your  friend,  but  I  will  pull 
no  fence  down  between  us.  Lady  Seaton,  it 
'would  be  a  wicked  thing  to  put  strife  between 
you  and  your  lord,  without  great  and  good 
reason.  Wait  a  wee.  We  hae  a  border  say- 
ing, and  a  gude  one  it  is — Our  kindred  first — I 
must  not  wrong  the  boys,  but  there  is  nae  spe- 


284  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

cial  call  to  right  them  just  now.  Every  year 
brings  it's  ain  changes.  When  David  is  twenty- 
one  wha  kens  which  of  us  a'  will  be  in  the  land 
o'  the  living?  " 

"Will  you  leave  the  subject  until  then?  " 

"Yes,  I  will." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"  I  hae  the  mastery  o'  myself." 

"  But  will  you  not  be  going  to  Sandy  Todd, 
or  others  for  advice  ?  " 

"  In  this  matter,  I  sail  fetch  my  counsel 
from  my  ain  breast." 

Then  amid  her  thanks  and  tears  she  began 
to  blame  her  brother.  "  She  could  not  tell  how 
he  had  been  so  cruel.  It  was  pure  selfishness 
in  him,  Faith."  she  said  passionately.  "  He 
wanted  you.  He  thought  by  confessing  him- 
self a  villain  and  affecting  to  be  ashamed  of  it 
in  your  presence,  he  v\  ould  touch  your  vanity, 
and  win  you.  He  cared  nothing  for  my  honor, 
or  my  child's." 

"  My  lady,  I  will  hear  na  mair  from  you. 
You  hae  a  poor  sense  o'  honor  to  get  a  word  o' 
mercy  from  me,  and  then  take  out  your  morti- 
fication on  ane  that  isna  here  to  shut  your 
mouth  with  the  truth.  It  is  a  pitiful  thing  to 


A  T  FAITH'S  MERCY.  285 

hear  you  !  Dinna  you  ken  that  to  abuse  the 
dead,  is  to  rob  their  ghosts  o'  their  winding 
sheets?" 

"  Don't  get  into  a  passion,  Faith  Harribee.' 

"  Passion  !  I'm  nae  in  any  passion.  I  hae 
made  you  a  promise  that  cost  me  something  to 
make.  I  wish  that  you  had  the  grace  to  take 
it  in  a  kindly  spirit." 

"  O,  forgive  me!  forgive  me!  I  am  beside 
myself  with  shame  and  fear  and  disappoint- 
ment. I  did  not  think  Tilbert  would  have  told 
any  one.  It  is  too  bad  !  How  could  he  be  so 
wicked  ?  He  was  not  sick,  nor  going  to  die, 
nor  expecting  any  great  calamity.  Faith,  how 
could  you  come  here  with  such  dreadful  news  ?  " 

Faith  rose  very  patiently.  She  perceived  that 
at  present  her  influence  could  do  no  good.  Terres 
had  one  of  those  natures  that  are  wisely  repri- 
manded ;  fatiguing,  full  of  incoherence,  full  of 
contradictions.  In  dealing  with  her,  it  was  con- 
tinually necessary  to  begin  anew  ;  and  the  most 
forbearing  weary  of  conversations  which  arrive 
at  no  conclusions. 

"  I  shall  go  abroad,  Faith  Harribee.  Can  I 
trust  you  ?  " 

"  You  have  my  promise.     If  I  live,  I  sail  say 


286  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

nae  mair  until  David  is  of  age.  If  I  die,  the  pros, 
ecution  of  the  claim  will  rest  with  others." 

"  Prosecution !  For  heaven's  sake  choose 
your  words  better.  If  you  do  tell  before  the 
time  named,  I  shall  kill  myself." 

"  I  am  not  to  be  frighted  in  any  way,  Lady 
Seaton.  I  am  going  awa'  now  and  you  needna 
be  sobbing  that  gate.  It  will  do  you  nae  gude, 
and  be  vera  sure  I  sail  do  you  nae  ill." 

It  had  not  been  in  any  sense  a  satisfactory 
visit  ;  and  it  left  upon  Faith's  mind  a  sense  of 
uncertainty  that  was  exceedingly  painful.  A 
week  after  it  she  heard  that  Lady  Seaton  had 
gone  to  Italy.  Seaton  and  Graeme  were 
in  the  hands  of  factors ;  both  houses  were 
closed,  and  in  a  few  months  the  simple  folk 
around  them  ceased  to  talk  of  their  doings,  or 
even  speculate  as  to  their  return. 

So  summers  and  winters  came  and  went,  and 
there  were  few  changes  in  Harribee.  Faith 
aged  some  what  after  Graeme's  death,  She  had 
stood  on  the  topmost  line  of  youth  and  beauty 
longer  than  most  women  do.  Her  open  air 
life,  her  freedom  from  great  cares,  her  placid 
cheerful  temper  and  her  religious  trust  exer- 
cised a  preserving  charm.  But  when  love  went 


AT  FAITH'S  MERCY.  287 

out  of  life  forever,  it  made  a  change  that 
all  noted.  It  had  been  meridian  for  long 
with  her :  suddenly  it  was  the  afternoon  of 
life. 

But  she  never  lacked  work,  and  never  lacked 
.interests  outside  her  work.  It  was  not  enough 
for  her  to  be  making  money ;  above  all  she 
must  be  making  happiness.  And  wisely,  she 
looked  for  her  opportunities  at  her  own  hearth, 
and  among  the  people  with  whom  she  was  con- 
nected. She  talked  with  her  shepherds,  and 
when  she  discovered  that  a  few  pounds  to  fur- 
nish a  cottage  would  make  a  couple  of  young 
hearts  happy,  the  cottage  was  furnished.  She 
sent  young  girb  oil  to  service  v.'ith  kists  full  of 
warm  and  suitable  clothing.  She  could  always 
spare  a  few  sovereigns  to  keep  old  men  and 
old  women  out  of  the  fields  in  the  winter  time. 
She  discovered  among  her  herdsmen  a  born 
preacher,  and  she  sent  him  to  school  and  to 
college,  and  had  the  felicity  to  know  that  he 
became  a  great  apostle.  Her  charity  was  uni- 
versal ;  developing  every  hour  into  little  unre- 
membered  deeds  of  kindness,  of  which  none 
took  much  note ;  which  would  never  win  a 
word  of  public  recognition,  and  yet  which  were 


288  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

worth  far  more  than  much  that  obtains  public 
recognition. 

When  David  was  nineteen,  she  took  the  boys 
one  summer  morning  up  the  fell  with  her. 
They  climbed  as  high  as  the  preacher's  stone, 
and  looked  over  the  beautiful  land  rolling  away 
to  the  horizon  beneath  them.  Faith  was  think- 
ing of  the  future,  but  insensibly  they  fell  into 
conversation  about  the  past.  In  his  slow, 
thoughtful  way,  as  he  let  his  eyes  wander  over 
the  Harribee  fells,  Matthew  said,  "  I  do  wish 
I  had  borne  the  grand  old  name,  I  should  have 
been  proud  of  it." 

Faith  looked  eagerly  at  him,  and  then  turned 
to  David — "  would  you  also  like  to  be  called 
Harribee,  David  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  is  a  good  name,  Aunt  Faith,  and  I  am 
glad  of  my  share  in  it.  But  I  have  nothing 
against  my  father's  name.  I  know  that  he  was 
neither  a  martyr  nor  a  saint,  that  he  was  only 
a  poor  player,  but  he  did  his  work  cheer- 
fully and  well.  He  was  kind  and  honest 
and  much  loved.  No,  I  would  prefer  to  re- 
main David  Graeme.  But  I  would  gladly 
take  down  the  sword  of  Elias  Harribee  and 


AT  FAITH'S   MERCY.  289 

have   a  commission    in  the  Cameronian  Regi- 
ment. 

"  Sae  you  sail,  David  !     Sae  you  sail !     The 
sword    o'    Elias    Harribee   isna   for   this  day's 
fighting,  but  you  sail  hae  your  ain  sword,  and 
your  ain  company  if  you  would  really  like  it." 
"  Yes,  I  would  really  like  it." 
"  I  am  proud   o'  your  choice,  David.     Now, 
Matthew,    tell    us  what   you    would  like  best 
to  be." 

"  I  will  be  a  Cameronian  also,  Aunt  Faith ; 
but  I  would  rather  go  into  the  kirk  than  the 
army." 

"  Then  I  am  a  happy  woman  this  day.  And 
now  you  shall  baith  go  to  Edinburgh,  and  hae 
every  chance  for  your  future  that  love  and  siller 
can  give  you,  but  I  want  you  baith  to  ken,  that 
I  hae  none  but  you  twa,  and  that  I  am  a  rich 
woman,  and  can  gie  you  every  desire  of  your 
hearts — I  mean  every  wise  one — not  that  I  hae 
money  for  wastrie,  for  I  havena,  but  there  is 
enough  in  Harribee  and  Hawick  for  a'  things 
reasonable." 

"  And  I  call  that  riches,  Aunt  Faith,"  said 
David  ;  "  for  what  says  the  dearest  singer  in  al) 
the  world  ? 


29°  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

*  It's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank, 
It's  no  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  bank, 

To  purchase  peace  or  rest; 
It's  no  in  making  muckle  mair, 
It's  no  in  books:  it's  no  in  lear, 

To  make  us  truly  blest; 
If  happiness  have  not  her  seat, 

And  centre  in  the  breast, 
We  may  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great, 

But  never  can  be  blest.' " 

"  Are  you  sure  that  is  a  bit  o'  Robert  Burns? 
Our  Kirk  doesna  think  weel  o'  him,  but  there's 
nae  thing  wrong  in  thae  words.  Your  grand- 
fayther  used  to  say,  that  folks  who  sang> 
frighted  trouble  awa*  from  them,  but  he,  puir 
laddie  i  supped  his  cupful.  I  hae  often  felt 
sorry  for  him.  puir  lad  !  Puir,  foolish,  kindly 
lad  1 " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   CAPTAIN  AND   THE  MINISTER. 

"  Dear  youths,  gray  books  no  blossoms  bear  ; 

You  have  enough  of  learning  ; 
For  life's  green  fields  your  march  prepare, 

And  take  a  friendly  warning. 
I  would  not  have  you  longer  stay 

To  read  of  others'  striving  ; 
Wield  your  own  arm  !  —  the  only  way 
To  know  life  is  by  living." 

—  PROF.  BLACKIE. 


are  experiences,  after  which  we 
JL  never  more  take  life  in  the  same  way; 
never  more  are  what  we  were  before  them. 
The  death  of  Graeme  was  such  a  crisis  to 
Faith  ;  after  it,  age  began  to  touch  her  gently, 
now  and  then,  and  here  and  there.  She  held 
the  world  with  a  looser  grip.  She  had  turned 
her  face  to  the  west.  But  life  has  always  com- 
pensations, and  no  one  who  saw  Faith's  happy 
face,  could  doubt  that  she  felt  hers  to  be  suffi- 
cient. 

As   the   time   of    the   boys'    majority   drew 
near,  she  was  often  thoughtful,  and  she  began 


29«  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

to  talk  of  taking  a  journey  to  Edinburgh. 
Phemie  was  fretted  at  her  restlessness, — "  if 
you'll  hae  patience,  Faith,"  she  said,  "  the  gude 
that  is  for  you  will  come  to  you.  The  laddies 
be  to  finish  their  classes,  and  you  going  to 
Edinburgh  willna  hurry  the  hour  by  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  I  ken  what  for,  I'm  going,  Phemie." 

Phemie  had  become  very  helpless.  She  sat 
most  of  her  time  in  the  chimney  corner,  or  in 
the  sunny  doorway,  with  her  knitting  in  her 
hand,  and  the  ball  of  yarn  moving  softly  at  her 
feet. 

"  Her  work  was  done,"  she  said ;  "  she  was 
wearying  to  hear  God's  voice,  for  she  kent  weel, 
there  would  be  mair  wark,  and  better  wark  laid 
out  for  her  over-by." 

Faith  hesitated  about  leaving  her,  but  finally 
one  lovely  morning  in  June,  she  came  down 
stairs  dressed  for  a  journey.  Before  going  she 
went  to  her  father's  desk,  and  took  out  of  an 
unlocked  drawer,  a  ring.  She  had  been  quite 
aware  of  its  presence  in  that  drawer  almost  all 
her  life,  but  until  lately  had  never  felt  any  par- 
ticular interest  in  it.  When  she  reached  Edin- 
burgh, she  did  not  go  at  once  to  her  nephew's 


THE  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  MINISTER.       293 

lodgings,  but  to  a  sptendid  mansion  in  the 
suburbs  of  the  city. 

"  I  hae  heard  tell,  that  the  Duke  of  Lauder- 
dale  is  staying  here,"  she  said  to  the  footman. 
"  If  sae,  tell  him  there  is  ane  that  would  hae 
«wpeech  with  him." 

After  some  delay  she  was  admitted  to  his 
presence.  He  was  a  very  old  man,  and  he 
peered  curiously  at  Faith  as  she  advanced 
toward  him.  But  Faith  was  in  no  ways  em- 
barrassed. She  bowed  courteously  and  pre- 
sented to  him  the  ring,  saying, 

"  Your  Grace  nae  doubt  remembers  the 
token  between  yoursel \  ?.n<3  my  fayther ;  and 
the  promise  given  with  tho  pledge." 

He  looked  earnestly  at  the  ring  a  moment, 
and  answered:  "I  do  Indeed!  Madame,  is 
my  preserver  Matthew  Harribee  still  living?" 

"  He  was  ta'en  up  higher,  many  a  year  syne. 
I  am  his  daughter  Faith.  Can  I  claim  the 
promise  in  his  place?" 

"  On  this  ring  you  may  claim  all  I  can  do 
for  you." 

"  My  fayther's  name  is  like  to  perish  on  Esk 
Water.  I,  alone,  am  left  of  the  Harribees. 
But  I  hae  twa  nephews  called  Graeme,  and  ane 


294  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

o'  them,  a  pious,  learned  lad,  wishes  to  take 
the  name  o'  Harribee.  Can  you  get  this  favor 
for  him,  and  for  me,  duke  ?  " 

"  It  is  but  a  small  favor.  It  were  indeed  a 
pity  if  so  noble  a  strain  lost  their  name  in 
Eskdale.  You  may  consider  the  request 
granted.  Give  me  the  address  of  your  lawyer. 
All  business  connected  with  the  matter  can  be 
transacted  through  him.  It  will  spare  you 
some  troublesome  writing." 

"  Put  down  Sandy  Todd  of  Hawick.  He 
kens  a'  anent  our  business  and  our  family." 

"As  to  the  other  young  man?  Have  you 
any  request  to  make  for  him?" 

"  He  is  aye  talking  of  a  captain's  commis- 
sion in  his  fore-elders'  regiment,  the  Cameron* 
ians." 

"  And  he  must  have  it,  madame.  You  will 
permit  me  to  use  my  influence." 

"  The  siller  for  it  is  lying  with  Sandy  Todd; 
but  I  ken  that  siller  is  but  a  part  o'  the  busi- 
ness. If  you  will  say  the  gude  word,  and  the 
strong  word,  you  can  sae  weel  say,  I  will  thank 
you,  duke." 

"  And  you  must  take  back  this  ring.  I  ask 
that  the  young  soldier  keep  it.  Tell  him  that 


THE  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  MINISTER.      295 

it  has  been  worn  by  the  dukes  of  Lauderdale 
since  the  days  of  the  third  James.  I  do  not 
doubt  but  that  he  will  wear  it  with  honor." 
Then  smiling  pleasantly  in  Faith's  face,  he 
added,  "do  you  know  the  value  of  the  ring?" 

"  I  ken  naething  anent  jewels,  duke  ;  but  I 
am  vera  sure  that  nae  siller  at  a'  could  buy  it 
now  from  the  lad  wha  is  to  wear  it." 

"  I  am  pleased  to  hear  you  say  that ;  yet,  if 
a  question  of  sale  should  ever  rise,  the  Duke  of 
Lauderdale  will  always  give  one  thousand 
pounds  for  it.  The  ruby  is  the  finest  in  Scot- 
land— and  it  has  associations— ^associations  " 

"  It  will  be  a  sair  strait — a  strait  o'  lif ;  and 
death,  that  will  make  any  kin  o'min^  turn  faith 
and  kindness  into  just  common  sovereign  V 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Miss  Harribee0  Late 
as  the  call  upon  me  is — and  you  see  I  am  in 
the  gloaming  of  life — I  am  proud  to  answer  it." 

So  they  parted,  and  Faith  said  nothing  as  to 
the  '  wherefore  '  of  her  journey  to  any  one  but 
Sandy  Todd,  and  he  took  what  information  she 
chose  to  give  him  with  a  satisfactory  indiffer- 
ence. 

"You  are  a  wise  woman  and  a  lucKy 
woman,"  he  said,  "and  I  hope  you  can  leave 


«96  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

your  luck  wi'  your  siller  for  them  as  are  to  come 
after  you." 

"  The  blessing  is  to  the  third  and  fourth  gen- 
eration,  Sandy,  and  it  will  be  renewed  ere  it 
runs  out ;  I  dare  hope  that,  too.  The  lads  are 
baith  wise-like,  and  Matthew  is  heart-pious,  and 
seeking,  as  you  ken,  the  way  into  the  holy 
office." 

In  June  the  young  men  returned  home.  They 
had  both  done  more  than  well,  and  Faith  was 
very  proud  of  the  honors  they  had  achieved. 
Then  for  a  few  weeks  she  gave  herself  up  to 
the  enjoyment  of  their  presence.  "  We  will 
speak  o'  the  future,  dear  lads,"  she  said,  "when 
you  hae  rested  brain  and  body  a  wee.  Gae  up 
to  the  hill-tops  and  breathe  the  airs  o'  heaven, 
and  talk  wi'  the  shepherds,  for  they  hae  seen 
wonderful  things  in  the  mountains,  and  eat, 
and  sleep,  and  grow  strong  for  whate'er  work 
is  before  you.  And  when  the  right  hour 
strikes  I  sail  hae  something  to  say  to  you 
baith." 

Not  one  of  them  seemed  inclined  to  hurry 
the  right  hour.  In  this  green  valley  the  days 
came  to  them  full  of  peace.  It  was  a  summer 
holiday,  charmful  and  restful,  the  very  labors 


THE   CAPTAIN  AND    THE  MINISTER.      297 

of  which  were  as  the  singing  and  playing  of  a 
pastoral  idyll. 

But  one  September  morning  a  stranger  came 
to  see  Faith.  He  was  an  agent  of  the  Duke 
of  Lauderdale,  and  he  left  with  her  papers 
which  she  regarded  as  David  and  Matthew's 
call  to  the  real  work  of  life.  She  held  them  in 
her  hands,  with  a  heart  subdued  to  grateful 
tears  and  yet  throbbing  with  high  and  holy 
hopes. 

As  she  sat  musing,  David  put  his  head  into 
the  room.  "  Come  up  the  fells,  Aunt  Faith," 
he  said,  "  Laddie  is  sick  for  a  run,  and  I  think 
I  never  saw  such  a  glorious  haze  over  the 
heather.  It  looks  as  if  we  might  manage  to 
catch  some  of  it  in  our  hands." 

"  I  will  go  wi'  you,  David  gladly.  Is  that 
you,  Laddie?  Come  awa'  baith  o'  you." 

What  a  rarefied  freshness  there  was  in  the 
air !  How  full  it  was  of  passing  aromas,  and 
of  wandering  sounds,  that  in  the  wide  expanse 
lost  themselves,  ere  one  could  tell  whence  they 
rose,  or  where  they  died  away.  Faith  walked 
slower.  She  had  grown  paler  and  more  slen- 
der ;  but  her  eyes  were  as  young  as  they  were 
at  twenty,  and  her  smile  was  not  an  inadver. 


298  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

tent  one ;  it  was  a  blending  of  such  freshness, 
such  sweet  graciousness  and  benignant  love,  as 
filled  the  receiver  with  an  instantaneous  joy. 

Nothing  was  said  until  they  reached  a  great 
boulder  on  the  summit  of  the  first  fell.  Here 
they  sat  down  to  rest.  The  place  was  misty 
with  blue  bells,  and  the  grass  was  vividly  green, 
for  a  little  beck  went  tumbling  past,  and  with 
clear  gurglings  and  limpid  whispers  spread 
freshness  all  around.  There,  in  that  sweet 
loneliness,  she  gave  David  the  duke's  ring  and 
message,  and  put  into  his  hand  his  commission 
in  the  Cameronians. 

Destiny  loves  surprises,  and  David  took  his 
with  that  joyful  enthusiasm  which  belongs  alas! 
only  to  youth.  The  imposing  military  paper, 
the  sparkling  jewel ;  he  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  with  a  wondering  delight,  that  was  only 
equaled  by  the  joy  and  satisfaction  in  Faith's 
own  heart. 

"  I  didna  ken,  David,"  she  said,  touching  the 
ring,  "  that  I  was  leaving  a  thousand  pounds 
lying  round  sae  careless  like.  It  has  been  a' 
these  years  in  your  grandfayther's  open  desk.  I 
am  vera  sure  he  didna  ken  its  worth  either,  or 
he  had  turned  the  lock  on  it." 


THE   CAPTAIN  AND    THE  MINISTER.      299 

"  Why  did  the  duke  give  it  to  grandfather?" 
"  It  was  weel  deserved,  nae  doubt  o'  that, 
though  I  ne'er  heard  the  particulars — Matthew 
Harribee  wasna  the  man  to  praise  his  ain  deeds 
— but  he  saved  the  duke's  life  during  the  re- 
form riots  in  Glasgow,  and  I  hae  heard  my 
mother  say  it  was  a  deed  beyond  ordinary  for 
its  daring  and  courage.  Now  then,  Captain 
Graeme,  gie  me  your  young,  strong  arm  and 
we  will  tak'  the  way  hame  again,  for  I  hae  some 
words  also  to  speak  to  your  brother,  Matthew." 
They  found  Matthew  in  the  garden.  It  was 
all  ablaze  with  dahlias  and  hollyhocks,  and  he 
stood  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  leaning  upon  the 
stone-wall. 

"What  are  you  reading,  Matthew?" 
"  Nothing,  at  present,  aunt.  It  is  a  volume 
of  sermons  by  Dr.  Chalmers  upon  the  glory  of 
the  firmament  above  us,  but  I  was  not  reading 
it.  I  was  looking  over  the  glory  of  this  fair 
land.  The  barley  is  ready  for  the  sickle.  You 
will  be  harvesting  soon  ?  " 

"  Next  week  we  begin  the  ingathering." 
"  The  Harribees  chose  a  fair  bit  of  earth  for 
themselves,  Aunt  Faith." 

"  I  am  right  glad  you  think  sae,  Matthew ; 


3°°  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

for  from  this  day,  their  name  and  their  house 
and  their  land  is  yours.  You  are  now  Matthew 
Harribee  and  your  name  makes  you  heritor  of 
a'  that  goes  with  the  name." 

Faith  had  worked  for  this  hour,  and  dreamed 
of  this  hour  for  many  a  year,  and  it  did  not  dis- 
appoint her.  It  was  a  wonderful  day  to  all ! 
In  the  sweet  garden  how  short  was  that  sum- 
mer afternoon  !  And  when  the  first  wonder 
and  surprise  was  over,  what  enthralling  talks 
they  had  of  those  who  would  have  been  so  glad 
in  their  joy ! 

Faith  spoke  with  pride  and  tenderness  to 
them  of  their  grandparents — the  sturdy  sense 
and  piety  of  Matthew  Harribee,  the  sweet  gen- 
tleness of  his  wife.  She  told  them  of  their 
uncle  David  and  his  shattered  little  life.  She 
encouraged  their  own  reminiscences  of  their 
never-forgotten  home.  She  added  her  memo- 
ries of  the  sweet  and  childlike  Agnes.  She 
listened  with  interest  to  their  stories  of  their 
gay,  kindly  father.  She  even  suffered  herself 
to  trust  that  there  might  be  a  hope  for  one  who 
had  been  such  a  loving  husband  and  father,  and 
such  a  generous  helper  of  his  poorer  brethren. 
"There  is  nae  limit,"  she  whispered,  "to  God's 


THE  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  MINISTER.      301 

power  and  '  the  secret  o'  God '  is  doubtless  a 
secret  o'  mercy."  Nor  did  they  forget  the  uncle 
who  had  died  so  suddenly  and  who  had  added 
so  much  to  their  boyhood's  happiness.  They 
talked  long  of  him,  recalling  incident  after  in- 
cident with  affectionate  pride,  and  Faith  listened 
silently  with  unvoiced  prayers  and  tear-dimmed 
eyes. 

The  next  day  Matthew  had  found  a  difficulty 
and  he  came  to  Faith  with  it.  "  Aunt,  if  I  am 
to  be  Harribee  of  Harribee  Home,  what  comes 
of  the  grander  hopes  that  both  of  us  have  had  ? 
I  shall  soon  be  a  preacher  of  the  word,  and  I 
truly  think  that  I  have  a  call  to  preach  which  I 
dare  not  disobey." 

"  Oh,  Matthew  !  Are  you  sae  faithless  to 
me  ?  Did  you  really  think  I  had  forgotten  that  ? 
Why,  man  !  the  siller  has  been  gatherin'  in  Ha- 
wick  bank — the  siller  that  is  to  build  your  kirk 
— for  many  a  year.  There  is  a  remnant  of  the 
grand  old  faith  scattered  through  these  hills  and 
dales — just  a  few  sheep  in  the  wilderness,  Mat- 
thew— but  you  shall  be  their  shepherd  and  feed 
them  with  the  strong  meat  o'  the  word.  They 
are  mostly  poor  daytal  laboring  men,  and  they 
can  spare  little  o'  their  substance,  but  what 


302  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

then  ?  The  farm  shall  be  your  manse,  and  the 
sheep  and  the  grain  are  for  your  stipend.  This 
has  been  my  prayer  and  my  hope  for  long, 
and  if  you  will  take  your  call  from  me,  you 
are  a  placed  minister  as  soon  as  your  license  is 
in  your  hands." 

So  there  was  a  solemn  compact  between  these 
two,  and  henceforward  there  was  a  higher  pur- 
pose in  Faith's  labor  and  just  a  touch  of  greater 
dignity  in  her  manner.  Never  afterward  were 
the  boys  any  thing  in  Harribee  household,  but 
the  minister  and  the  captain,  and  it  was  3 
high  offense  in  Faith's  eyes  to  omit  these  hono- 
rable titles. 

Soon  after  this  momentous  day  Faith  was 
again  alone.  Captain  Graeme  joined  his  regi- 
ment at  Stirling,  and  Matthew  went  to  Edin- 
burgh to  take  the  last  steps  toward  the  office  he 
was  to  fill.  In  December  David  would  attain  his 
majority.  In  December  the  question  of  the 
Graeme  succession  would  have  to  be  decided. 

Early  in  the  month  Lady  Seaton  returned 
home.  Her  son,  a  bright  handsome  lad,  with 
his  mother's  haughty  manner,  called  at  Harri- 
bee with  a  letter  for  Faith.  He  was  superbly 
mounted  and  attended  by  a  .groom  in  livery; 


THE  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  MINISTER.      303 

and  he  had  doubtless  received  some  charges 
which  made  him  as  conciliating  as  possible. 
The  sight  of  the  child  saddened  Faith.  After 
his  visit  she  could  not  eat,  nor  sleep  of  nights. 
If  it  were  only  possible  to  pass  by  the  affair  and 
leave  all  as  it  was !  She  told  herself  that  David 
had  his  commission  and  was  proud  and  happy 
in  the  duties  it  brought  him,  and  that  also,  he 
was  to  be  the  heir  of  the  large  sum  of  money  she 
had  saved  :  "  For  Matthew  will  hae  the  house, 
and  the  land,  and  the  kirk  forbye,  and  I  will 
give  David  every  penny  in  Hawick  and  else- 
where. Isna  that  better  than  the  auld  castle, 
and  the  auld  na'me  that  hasna  a  noble  deed 
to  season  it  ?  And  what  for  will  I  tell  him 
then?  Maybe,  I  will  only  set  him  up  and 
ruin  him  ! " 

But  this  specious  reasoning  did  not  satisfy 
her.  At  the  last  she  always  came  to  the  same 
conclusion  :  "  I  must  do  the  right  thing.  That 
is  my  duty.  The  consequences,  I  hae  naething 
to  say  anent.  They  are  in  God's  hands." 

She  did  not  at  once  answer  Terres'  request 
to  see  her.  "  What  for  should  I  go  at  her  beck 
and  call  ?  "  she  asked  herself  with  a  touch  of 
reasonable  pride.  "  Phemie  is  mair  to  me  than 


304  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

she  is,  and  Phemie  I  dinna  care  to  leave  her 
lane." 

But  when  four  days  had  passed  Terres  grew 
uneasy.  She  humbled  her  pride  and  went  to 
call  upon  Faith.  She  was  now  over  fifty  years 
of  age.  She  had  grown  stout  and  lost  every 
trace  of  her  youthful  beauty  and  fine  carriage. 
Her  face  shewed  plainly  the  marks  of  evil 
passions  willingly  indulged  ;  and  it  was  a  great 
effort  for  her  to  meet  Faith  with  any  show  of 
courtesy  or  kindness. 

"  Why  did  you  not  answer  my  letter  Miss 
Harribee  ?" 

"  I  wasna  minded  to,  my  lady.  I  had  nae 
new  thing  to  say.  The  time  I  had  spoken  of 
hadnacome." 

"  But  I  wished  to  see  you." 

"  I  dinna  think  it,  Lady  Seaton.  And  I 
wasna  caring  to  see  you.  You  said  things  vera 
hard  to  hear  at  our  last  meeting." 

"  I  did  not  suppose  you  would  bear  malice. 
I  though  Christians  were  told  to  forgive." 

"  Likewise  they  are  told  to  keep  out  o'  the 
way  o'  temptation.  I  said  harder  words  mysel' 
that  day,  than  is  my  ordinar.  I  didna  want  to 
hae  to  say  them  again." 


THE  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  MINISTER.      3°5 

"  You  are  not  very  polite,  but  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about 
Graeme?  " 

"  Naething.  I  sail  leave  it  to  the  heir  him- 
self to  do  what  he  thinks  right  in  the  matter. 
He  is  a  wise  and  kind  lad  ;  and  he  has  a  gude 
heart.  I  am  not  feared  for  him  doing  right." 

"  I  hear  that  he  is  joined  the  army.  That 
looks  as  if  he  did  not  mean  to  make  any 
claim." 

"  He  doesna  yet  ken  that  he  has  any  claim  to 
make.  I  thocht  if  he  had  a  few  weeks  in  bar- 
racks, he  would  be  mair  able  to  decide  on  which 
life  would  suit  him  better — lordo'  yonder  dreary 
castle,  or  lord  o'  his  ain  sword  and  fortune.  I 
sail  not  say  this  nor  that,  to  waver  him." 

"  It  is  not  right  to  leave  so  important  a  ques- 
tion to  a  silly  young  man  in  the  first  flush  of 
his  military  pride  and  social  life.  The  very  title 
will  decide  him." 

"  He  isna  a  silly  young  man  ;  and  I  dinna 
think  he  will  care  a  snap  o'  his  fingers  for  the 
auld  world  title.  It  is  o'er  blood-stained." 

"  Yet  you  would  have  taken  it." 

"  You'll  no  say  them  words  again  Lady 
Seaton.  I  hae  told  you  different,  and  you 


3°6  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

ken  better.     I  am  thinking  you  would  be  wiser 

to  keep  ill  words  in  yourain  heart.     Why  came 

you  here?     I  didna  send  for  you." 

"  I  am  always  doing  and  saying  the  wrong 

thing.     What  did  you  think  of  my  boy  ?     Saw 

you  ever  a  nobler  looking  child  ?  " 
"  I  thought  he  was  a  fine  laddie." 
"  Oh  how  can  you  injure  him,  Faith  ?  " 
"  Dinna  tak'  my  Christian  name  up.      There 

is  nae  kindness  in  the  uptak." 

"  I  think  you  are  very  rude,  Miss  Harribee." 
"You  should  hae  keepit  awa'.     I   hae  been 

vera  patient  with  you,  for  the  sake  o'  one  not 

to  be  named  between  us.     I  hae  done  you  na& 

harm.     I  hae  wished  you  nane." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  this  month?" 
"  Naething,  just  naething.      David  is   aultf 

enough,  and  wise  enough  to  sort  his  ain  affairs. 

Whate'er  he  does,  I  sail  stand  by." 

"You    are  a  cruel  woman!      Look  at   my 

boy — " 

"  Remember  young    Roland    Graeme,  and 

dinna  talk  to  me  o'  cruelty  !     Dinna  bid  me 

mind  the  past,  or  I  sail   be  hot  to  make  the 

present  pay  for  the  past.     Gae  your  ways  lady 

Seaton,  I  will  not  speak  mair  words  on  this 


THE  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  MINISTER.      3°7 

subject  with  you  ;  but  if  in  any  other  way  I 
can  be  friend  or  helper,  you  hae  claims  on  me, 
and  I'll  ne'er  deny  them." 

So  indeterminate,  so  full  of  resentful  humili- 
ation was  this  visit,  that  both  women  deeply 
regretted  it.  It  only  made  Terres  still  more 
miserable.  It  decided  Faith  to  send  at  once 
for  her  nephews.  Both  were  a  little  startled 
at  her  urgent  demand. 

"  If  it  be  possible,"  she  wrote  to  each,  "  if 
it  be  at  all  possible  reach  Harribee  on  the  morn- 
ing  of  the  twenty-seventh  of  December.  I 
have  most  important  affairs  for  you  to  decide 
upon." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

CONTENT. 

"  Having  reaped  and  garnered,  bring  the  plow 
And  draw  new  furrows  'neath  the  healthy  morn, 
And  plant  the  great  Hereafter  in  this  Now," 

*'  Her  soul  was  stirring  gently,  as  a  bird 
Stirs  in  its  nest,  about  to  take  its  flight 
To  brighter  lands." 

"  The  bitterness  of  Death  behind  her  lies, 
And  not  before.     Henceforth  shall  mysteries 
Of  heavenly  love  be  with  her  from  the  lands 
Of  light." 

MATTHEW  reached  Harribee  on  the 
twenty-sixth,  David  not  until  the  noon 
hour  of  the  twenty-seventh.  He  was  in  his 
dniform,  and  Faith  thought  she  had  never 
seen  a  lordlier  looking  youth.  Phemie  watched 
him  with  speechless  admiration.  There  was 
not  a  servant  on  the  farm  who  had  not  a  hearty 
pride  in -this  revelation  of  military  splendor 
and  authority.  It  was  the  one  form  of  power 
which  they  had  an  instinctive  admiration  for, 
and  yet  were  unfamiliar  with. 


CONTENT.  30^ 

In  the  moment  of  his  arrival  he  understood 
that  he  had  been  summoned  for  some  very  im- 
portant reason.  Faith  was  white  with  emotion, 
her  hands  trembled,  her  voice  was  full  of  tears, 
as  she  led  the  young  men  to  the  best  parlor, 
which  had  been  opened  and  warmed  for  this 
interview. 

They  sat  down  together  at  a  table  on  which 
the  family  Bible  was  lying,  Faith  facing  her 
nephews.  After  a  moment's  pause,  she  said  : 

"  My  dear  lads,  you  hae  come  to  the  gravest 
hour  o'  your  lives."  Then  with  a  pathetic 
seriousness  she  told  them  the  long  sad  story  of 
sin  and  remorse.  At  first  she  had  not  intended 
to  compromise  Lord  Graeme,  but  as  she  spoke 
she  forgot  every  thing  but  the  truth  ;  and  in  the 
light  of  truth,  the  man's  contrition  and  atone- 
ment seemed  to  her  grand  enough  to  cancel 
his  fault.  At  this  point  she  faltered  and  broke 
down  ;  and  the  young  men  drew  close  to  her, 
and  soothed  her  with  gentle  words  and  assur- 
ances, and  more  than  all,  with  outspoken  praises 
of  the  one  who  had  wronged  them.  It  was 
a  sorrowful,  shameful  tale  to  tell,  and  Faith 
suffered  almost  as  much  as  if  she  had  been  the 
wrong-doer.  But  when  it  was  told,  she  looked 


310  A    BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

straight  into  David's  and  Matthew's  faces,  and 
that  look  gave  her  an  instant  sense  of  sympa- 
thy and  relief. 

"  I  hope  you  dinna  think  I  hae  done  wrong 
to  you,  in  keeping  back  the  news." 

"You  have  acted  wisely  and  kindly,  Aunt 
Faith,"  said  David.  "  Even  a  year  ago,  I 
might  have  been  tempted  to  decide  as  I  would 
scorn  to  decide  now.  As  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, I  will  do  as  my  brave-hearted  father 
did,  make  my  own  living,  and  carve  my  own 
name.  I  have  been  among  lords  in  Edinburgh 
and  Stirling.  I  think  little  of  them.  What  honor 
is  there  in  the  name  a  dead  man  won  ?  I  will 
only  have  the  title  which  I  can  win  for  my- 
self." 

Faith  looked  proudly  at  him,  and  then 
glanced  at  Matthew,  who  sat  with  eyes  down- 
cast upon  the  table.  "  Matthew,"  she  said, 
"you  are  next  heir  to  David  ;  if  David  should 
die  and  leave  no  son,  you  would  be  lord  of 
Graeme." 

"  I  will  not  think  of  honor  or  increase  that  is 
to  come  by  David's  death." 

"  Those  are  but  a  few  kind  words,  Matthew. 
You  be  to  think  of  every  side  of  this  question 


CONTENT.  3H 

now ;  you  canna  alter  your  decision  in  after 
years.  Are  you  quite  willing  to  give  up  such 
prospects  as  are  yours  in  this  matter  ?  If  not, 
then  David  will  have  no  power  to  resign  a 
position  which  clasps  your  right  as  well  as  his 
own." 

There  were  some  minutes  of  intense  silence. 
Matthew  remained  lost  in  thought.  Faith  and 
David  both  waited  for  his  decision.  They  were 
neither  astonished  nor  hurt  by  his  delay.  He 
was  known  to  be  careful  and  cautious  even  on 
the  most  ordinary  subjects.  Still  he  hesitated 
so  long  that  David  grew  slightly  impatient,  and 
played  nervously  with  the  tassel  on  his  sword 
hilt. 

"  I  wanted  to  be  sure,  Aunt  Faith :  Sure, 
quite  sure,  David.  No  regrets  afterward. 
Now  I  am  ready  to  speak."  He  drew  the 
Bible  toward  him,  and  laying  his  hand  upon 
it,  said : 

"  The  thing  that  has  been  told  me,  shall  be 
as  if  I  had  never  heard  it.  I  will  have  no  part 
or  lot  in  the  lordship  of  Graeme.  I  will  enter- 
tain no  unkind  thought  of  him  who  wronged 
my  father.  I  believe  that  he  was  most  truly  pen- 
itent ;  and  I  truly  forgive  him.  I  shall  always 


312  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

love  him.  I  will,  therefore,  for  his  sake  also, 
make  no  question  which  would  give  occasion 
for  evil-speaking  about  him.  This  I  say,  and 
swear  to,  in  God's  presence,  and  on  God's 
word." 

Then  David  laid  his  hand  upon  the  book. 
"Aunt  Faith,  all  that  Matthew  has  said,  I  say 
with  him.  I  will  have  no  part  in  Graeme  lord- 
ship ;  and  for  your  sake  I  will  not  have  the 
name  of  one  you  loved  made  a  talk  and  a  by- 
word of.  Let  him  rest  in  peace.  I  pray  God 
to  forgive  him,  as  I  do  this  hour." 

"  My  dear  lads,  I  thank  you  both.  I  thank 
you  !  I'll  no  deny  but  what  the  thocht  of  all 
that  would  be  printed,  and  said,  has  many  a 
time  made  me  heart  sick  with  fear.  I  must 
hae  gone  into  this  court  and  that  court  wi'  my 
evidence  ;  I  must  hae  been  questioned,  and  sus- 
pected, and  had  my  most  sacred  feelings  exam- 
ined ;  I  should  hae  been  gazed  at  by  folks,  and 
thocht  ill  of,  and  had  ill  said  of  me,  for  the  vera 
kindness  there  was  between  me  and  Lord  Til- 
bert.  Whichever  way  I  turned  I  saw  trouble, 
and  the  strife  of  tongues,  and  ill-will  without 
end.  I  wouldna  point  this  out  to  you  before, 
lest  you  might  put  my  gude  name  and  peace  o' 


CONTENT.  313 

mind,  before  your  ain  wishes  and  welfare.  But 
oh,  my  dear  David ;  oh,  my  dear  Matthew, 
you  hae  lifted  a  sair  and  heavy  burden  from 
my  heart  this  day !  " 

"  It  was  our  great  pleasure  to  do  it ;  and 
now,  aunt,  what  further  steps  must  I  take?  " 

"  Here  are  all  the  papers  necessary  to  certify 
your  claim.  This  bundle  contains  the  origi- 
nals— this  one,  the  copies  I  had  made  of  the 
originals.  I  think  you  should  call  upon  your 
aunt,  Lady  Seaton,  at  once,  and  tell  her  that 
you  have  decided  to  give  up  your  right  in  favor 
of  her  son.  You  will  find  her  haughty  and 
insolent,  I  fear.  Heed  her  not.  What  you 
have  done  has  not  been  done  for  her  pride,  but 
for  my  gude  name,  and  gude  repose  in  my  late 
days." 

David  rose  at  once.  "  I  will  go  now.  The 
sooner  we  can  bury  the  subject  forever, 
the  better,  dear  aunt.  And  oh !  how  proud  I 
am  of  your  prudence,  your  kindness,  and  your 
wise  love  for  me ! "  He  put  his  handsome 
head  down  and  kissed  her  fondly,  and  Matthew 
clasped  her  hands  and  said  words  just  as  loving 
and  grateful. 

Then  Faith  rose  up  with  a  bright  face,  and 


3J4  A   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

she  said,  "  to-day,  I  feel  very  proud  and  wee! 
contented.  Now  I  will  go  to  my  ain  room.  It 
is  a  sort  of  giving  up  o'  my  stewardship,  and  I 
canna  be  happy  till  I  hae,  also,  God's  '  well 
done/  " 

Then  the  young  men  went  to  the  stables 
together.  David  would  ride  at  once  to  Seaton 
Court,  and  Matthew  followed  him  full  of  a  new 
idea  which  he  could  not  well  express  for  a 
moment  or  two.  But  as  David  was  leaving  the 
yard,  he  stopped  him,  and  asked,  "  have  you 
both  packages  of  papers  with  you  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  have  both." 

"  Let  me  keep  the  originals  until  you  return. 
When  you  have  had  an  interview  with  Lady 
Seaton,  you  will  know  better  if  it  is  wise  to 
give  her  them.  Remember,  they  are  all  we 
have  to  prove  our  father's  honorable  birth,  and 
to  defend  our  aunt  against  the  innuendos,  or  the 
open  charges,  which  defeated  malice,  or  ungen- 
erous obligation  may  choose  to  make.  Take 
my  advice,  David." 

"  Very  well,  I  will."  Then  he  examined  the 
papers,  and  gave  Matthew  the  packet  contain- 
ing the  original  proofs. 

At  Seaton  Court,  Lady  Seaton  was  watching 


CONTENT.  3*5 

for  his  visit.  She  had  contrived  to  send  Lord 
Seaton  to  Graeme ;  she  thought  she  was  fully 
prepared  for  the  very  worst  that  could  happen. 
When  David  was  introduced  to  her  presence, 
she  met  him  with  an  air  of  painful  interroga- 
tion, and  as  soon  as  the  servant  had  retired, 
she  said : 

"  Captain  Graeme,  there  is  no  necessity  for 
us  to  exchange  empty  compliments.  You 
understand  I  know,  that  your  claim  clashes 
with  the  claim  of  my  son  ?  " 

"  It  shall  do  so  no  longer,  Lady  Seaton.  I 
have  come  to  assure  you  of  my  unwillingness 
to  disturb  in  any  way  the  presumed  succes- 
sion. Not  for  all  the  lordships  in  Scotland 
would  I  have  my  aunt  Faith's  name 
brought  into  public  dispute,  or  her  most  pure 
motives  misjudged.  Nevertheless,  my  claim 
is  a  just  one,  as  these  papers  will  prove  to 
you." 

She  took  them  eagerly,  glanced  at  their 
captions,  and  then  turning  rapidly  round,  flung 
them  into  the  blazing  fire.  She  was  quite  pre- 
pared to  stand  guard  over  their  destruction,  if 
necessary,  but  David  made  not  the  slightest 
attempt  .to  rescue  them.  Still  she  saw  when 


31 6  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

she  faced  him  again  the  wavering  shadow 
of  his  contempt,  and  she  answered  it  defi- 
antly. 

"  No  one  has  injured  your  aunt's  pure  name. 
As  for  her  pure  motives,  allow  me  to  judge 
them  as  I  please.  Her  influence  over  my 
brother  was  a  sort  of  witchcraft.  She  could 
have  made  him  write — or  forge — any  paper  she 
wanted.  Poor  Tilbert !  Ah  !  his  death  was  a 
merciful  one  for  himself ! " 

"  Lady  Seaton,  I  have  one  condition  to  make 
with  you." 

"  Sir,  I  will  make  no  conditions  with  you — " 
and  she  laughed  mockingly  and  looked  at  the 
filmy  ash  which  was  all  that  remained  of  the 
burnt  papers. 

"  Then  we  will  consider  my  relinquishment 
null  and  void.  I  can  at  least  leave  you  to  make 
conditions  with  the  law." 

"You  should  have  kept  your  proofs,  sir." 

"  I  have  kept  them.  The  papers  you  burned 
were  only  copies  of  the  originals.  You  can  have 
another  set  from  Sandy  Todd." 

She  started  to  her  feet  in  a  fury  of  passion, 
and  David  was  compelled  to  hear  silently  her 
violent  words.  When  she  paused,  he  inquired, 


CONTENT.  317 

"  Will  you  listen  to  my  condition,  Lady 
Seaton?" 

"  What  have  you  to  say?" 

"  I  insist  that  you  shall  neither  by  word  or 
iook  insinuate  or  declare  any  thing  likely  to 
annoy  my  aunt,  Miss  Harribee.  If  you  do, 
then  I  will  reassert  my  right,  and  make  her 
restitution  of  the  most  perfect  kind.  And 
though  I  may  go  far  away  from  here,  my 
brother  stays  in  Harribee,  and  he  will  watch 
and  listen,  as  I  would  watch  and  listen.  So, 
then,  Lady  Seaton,  beware  of  your  words,  and 
even  of  your  looks,  for  I  vow  that  you  hold 
Graeme  for  your  son  on  your  own  good  be- 
havior." 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  an  insolent  cock-o-my- 
thumb  !  Your  tongue  proves  you  a  Graeme,  at 
any  rate.  How  old  is  your  sword,  pray?  A 
man  who  wears  a  sword  ought  to  know  that  his 
first  duty  is  courtesy  to  women.  Pshaw !  you 
show  the  clown's  blood,  too." 

"  Clown  or  gentleman,  I  have  told  you  the 
truth.  So  long  as  you  observe  my  condition, 
so  long  you  may  call  your  son  Lord  of  Graeme. 
If  you  break  it,  though  I  be  at  the  world's  end, 
I  will  come  home  and  take  my  own." 


3i&  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

He  did  not  wait  for  her  answer,  and  without 
even  a  glance  at  the  fuming  woman  he  left  the 
room.  She  was  purple  and  panting  with  excite- 
ment, and  yet  amid  all  her  anger,  a  fierce  joy 
made  her  act  with  an  unwomanly  bravado  of 
gayety.  Her  lord  turned  away  from  her  noisy 
greeting  with  annoyance,  and  pleading  unusual 
fatigue  ordered  a  light  dinner  in  his  own  room. 
And  then  the  reaction  came,  and  she  threw 
herself  with  passionate  tears  by  her  son's  bed- 
side, and  the  boy  was  awakened  by  her  sobbing 
and  said  petulantly,  as  she  tried  to  kiss  him : 

"  Oh,  mamma !  I  wish  you  would  let  me 
sleep  !  You  are  so  tiresome  and  so  queer  !  " 

"  So  tiresome  and  so  queer !  And  that  was  all 
her  reward  for  wretched  years — a  husband,  to 
whom  she  did  not  dare  to  trust  the  knowledge 
of  her  evil  deed — a  son  who  thought  her  irre- 
pressible emotion  tiresome  and  queer!  " 

In  Harribee  Home  there  was  a  very  different 
scene.  After  a  description  of  his  interview  with 
Lady  Seaton — after  Matthew  had  been  praised 
for  his  wisdom,  and  the  final  disposition  of  the 
papers  were  arranged  for,  David  and  Matthew 
sat  down  with  Faith  for  their  evening  meal. 
Phemis  was  in  the  chimney-corner,  and  David 


CONTENT.  S1^ 

himself  put  her  cup  by  her  side  and  gave  her 
the  few  delicate  morsels  she  could  eat.  It  was 
perhaps  the  proudest  moment  of  Phemie's  life, 
and  she  looked  with  an  adoring  affection  on  the 
handsome  young  soldier. 

The  Seatons  were  put  out  of  every  one's 
thoughts.  David  had  made  himself  familiar 
with  the  history  of  his  famous  regiment,  and 
Faith  and  Matthew  sat  listening  with  glowing 
faces  to  the  story  of  its  doings  in  modern  times 
— how  it  had  fought  under  Preston  in  the 
American  war,  where  its  unfortunate  Major 
Andre  so  sadly  perished — how  Lord  John 
Elphinstone  had  led  it  on  the  plains  of  Egypt ; 
and  the  border  gentleman  Maxwell  through 
the  horrors  of  Corunna,  and  how  in  China  it 
had  won  the  dragon  that  adorned  its  colors. 

"  They  are  braw,  braw  lads  : "  cried  Faith 
proudly,  "  and  I  am  weel  pleased  that  my  lad 
is  ane  o'  them." 

But  it  was  a  still  prouder  day  when  the  little 
stone  kirk  was  finished  and  the  Rev.  Matthew 
Harribee  preached  to  a  congregation  of  plain, 
thoughtful  shepherds  and  farmers  his  first  ser- 
mon. The  ecclesiastical  spirit  of  his  .race  had 
culminated  in  Matthew  Harribee.  He  was  a 


320  A    BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

minister  after  these  men's  own  hearts.  The 
extremest  doctrines  of  John  Calvin  were 
neither  blinked  nor  clipped  by  him,  and  his 
flocks  were  fed,  as  Faith  wished  they  should  be, 
with  the  strong  meat  of  the  word.  And  Faith 
was  a  true  woman.  She  liked  a  man  whom 
she  could  honor  and  look  up  to,  and  in  some 
measure  obey ;  so  Matthew,  after  his  first  ser- 
mon, was  an  indisputable  authority  to  her. 

Changes  came  with  every  year.  First  Phemie 
went  peacefully  away.  Faith  and  Matthew  sat 
with  her  through  her  last  earthly  night ;  and 
just  before  the  great  change  came,  Matthew 
asked,  "  How  are  you  feeling  now,  Phemie?  " 

"  Weel,  vera  weel,  minister,  just  a  bit  confused 
with  the  flitting." 

Then  Matthew  married  a  good,  bonnie  girl 
with  both  land  and  siller,  and  a  new  wing  was 
built  to  Harribee  ;  and  the  minister's  study, 
and  the  pretty  parlors  and  sleeping  rooms  were 
just  a  wonder  to  the  simple  shepherds. 

But  Faith  did  not  grow  to  the  changes  that 
were  as  inevitable  as  the  law  of  progress.  As 
her  old  servants  died  off,  she  began  to  be  aware 
that  she  was  lonely  in  spite  of  the  new  ties  try- 
ins  to  claso  her  on  every  side  She  loved 


CONTENT.  321 

Matthew's  boys  and  girls  dearly,  but  not  as  she 
had  loved  Matthew  himself,  and  his  brother 
David.  The  tints  of  earth  grew  paler,  its 
affections  less  potent.  Spring  was  not  so 
jocund,  summer  was  not  so  brilliant,  nor 
autumn  so  wealthy,  nor  winter  so  stimula- 
ting. 

Still,  if  she  had  outgrown  the  vividness  of 
her  joys,  she  had  also  outlived  the  bitterness  of 
every  sorrow.  Upon  her  lips,  prayer  and  sup- 
plication had  insensibly  turned  to  praise.  But 
such  changes,  sharply  defined  by  a  few  words, 
were  in  reality  hardly  perceptible  to  those  con- 
stantly around  her.  True,  she  went  very  seldom 
up  the  fells.  She  had  less  color  in  her  cheeks, 
and  more  snow  upon  her  hair,  but  these 
things  were  but  natural  symptoms  of  advancing 
age.  Not  even  Matthew,  or  his  wife  Jean,  no- 
ticed them  particularly.  And  she  never  spoke 
of  that  singular  feeling  in  her  own  heart — that 
feeling  which  all  true  workers  have  welcomed 
when  their  task  was  nearly  done — that  sense  of 
pleasant  weariness  when  the  last  chapter  of  the 
book  is  finished,  the  last  touch  added  to  the 
painting,  the  last  acre  cleared  upon  the  farm — • 
that  fiat  of  accomplishment  on  any  true  labor, 


322  *   BORDER  SHEPHERDESS. 

which  always  brings  the  secret  of  the  Master's 
approval. 

One  morning,  just  at  that  time  when  English, 
men  were  clamoring  for  an  Abyssinian  war, 
David  suddenly  appeared  at  Harribee.  He  had 
brought  his  own  news,  not  having  time  to 
write.  The  Cameronians  were  under  orders  for 
the  mystical  old  African  land,  and  he  was  full 
of  military  ardor.  If  Faith  loved  either  of  her 
boys  better  than  the  other,  it  was  David 
Graeme.  His  visit  was  the  highest  grace  life 
could  now  give  her.  They  had  some  hours  of 
sweetest  communion  ;  some  short  pilgrimages 
to  all  the  spots  upon  the  hills  sacred  to  the 
memories  of  joys  past  over.  And  they  drove 
as  far  as  Graeme  Castle  and  round  by  Seaton 
Court,  and  perhaps  drew  closer  to  each  other, 
because  they  did  not  chatter  away  the  emotions 
in  their  hearts.  Indeed  their  conversation  re- 
ferring to  the  past  was  of  the  most  fragmentary 
character,  but  it  was  sufficient  for  their  peace 
and  confidence. 

"  You  have  not  regretted,  David  ? "  and 
Faith  looked  from  the  grey  old  castle  into  the 
young  soldier's  face. 

"  I  have  not  had  a  moment's  serious  regret 


CONTENT.  323 

Remember  what  I  have  seen ;  where  I  am  now 
going ;  the  life  of  honorable  labor  and  change 
1  have  had.  You  know  the  contrast.  I  have 
the  better  lot." 

"  When  I  am  dead  let  Lady  Seaton  have  the 
papers." 

"  If  you  wish  it." 

"  Who  can  injure  the  dead  ?  and  I  forgive 
her." 

'*  She  might  say  evil  of  you." 

"  I  shall  be  far  beyond  her  power." 

"  It  might  annoy  Matthew — " 

"  True.  Then  if  Matthew  is  willing,  give  her 
tne  papers  with  a  kind  word  from  me." 

"  We  will  do  what  you  wish,  dear  aunt." 

When  she  bid  David  '  farewell,'  she  felt  it  to 
be  her  final  one.  In  spite  of  every  body's  ef- 
forts, an  irrepressible  sadness  pervaded  the 
parting.  Matthew  thought  it  was  in  his 
brother.  "  I  noticed  a  shadow  on  his  face  all 
the  time,  aunt.  Does  he  regret  what  he  re- 
signed ?" 

"  Oh,  no !  It  is  not  that.  The  lad  is  bear- 
ing a  sorrow  vera  few  hearts  escape.  He  has 
been  deceived  by  his  first  love  ;  a  bit  silly 
lassie  that  left  him  for  an  "sari  auld  enough  to 


324  A   BORDER   SHEPHERDESS. 

be  her  fayther.  But  our  David  isna  one  to  cry 
long  after  a  false  love.  He  kens  weel,  that  our 
ain  love  is  but  a  small  part  o*  life.  There  is 
the  love  o'  God  and  man.  There  is  duty  and 
honor,  and  honest  work,  and  the  saving  o'  hon- 
est siller.  But  my  heart  aches  with  his  heart," 
she  said  softly,  "  it  is  a  sair  pain  to  thole  while 
it  lasts." 

One  July  morning  she  received  a  letter  from 
David.  It  was  a  very  exciting  one,  full  of 
adventures  strange  and  wonderful  as  an  Ara- 
bian tale.  Her  cheeks  flushed  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  to  its  enthusiasm.  She  sat  musing 
about  it  hour  after  hour,  once  or  twice  surpris- 
ing every  one  by  singing  softly  a  verse  or  two 
of  some  old  border  ballad.  In  the  afternoon 
she  walked  far  up  the  hills,  even  to  the  Preach- 
er's Stone,  and  came  home  weary,  and  yet  with 
a  singular  gayety  of  spirits. 

The  baby — her  own  namesake — was  sleeping 
in  the  cradle.  She  took  her  knitting  and  sat 
down  beside  it ;  and  Matthew  passing  through 
the  room  noticed  the  stillness  and  happiness  of 
her  countenance.  He  did  not  speak  to  her,  for  ; 
he  thought  in  his  heart — "  she  is  praying." 

Thus,  while  her  work  was  in   her  hands,  ere 


CONTENT.  325 

suffering  or  decay  had  touched  her,  "  a  word 
was  brought  to  her.  The  King  himself  desired 
her  presence."  She  went  instantaneously  with- 
out any  consciousness  of  pain  or  parting.  It 
was  as  if  death  had  gently  hastened  her,  "  the 
King's  command  being  urgent,"  and  she,  with 
that  alert  obedience  she  loved,  had  answered, 
"  Lord,  here  am  I." 

They  buried  her  among  the  generations  of 
her  own  people  in  the  kirk-yard  on  the  fells. 
The  great  sycamores  whisper  above  her  grave, 
and  the  steadfast  hills  are  round  about  it,  but 

"  Her  soul,  her  body's  guest 
Is  hence  ascended,  whither,  neither  Time, 
Nor  Faith,  nor  Hope,  but  only  Love  can  dirob.'* 


RN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIL 


A     000034424     2 


